


Slash Bang

by universalworst



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Corpses, Despair, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Spoilers, Mental Instability, Murder, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Post-Despair, Secondary characters play a major role as the story develops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 32,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalworst/pseuds/universalworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five months after the Neo World Program is shut down, Pekoyama wakes up from her coma. But her reunion with Kuzuryuu is far from the happy ending he had hoped for. With their peers beside them, the two struggle to come to terms with what they have done, both in and out of the simulation. While Enoshima Junko's presence lingers, the Remnants of Despair strive to forge a new future together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters are short and written in the second person.
> 
> Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take some time to get used to being alive again.

**ALIVE** ;- connections

* * *

 

You stare at the ceiling above you, vision blurry without your glasses. You blink. You swallow the thick saliva that's accumulated in your throat. You inhale. Hold it. And...exhale.

They told you it would take time to get used to being alive again. They told you many things, you think. You didn't understand most of what was said, the words rushing over you like water, but the word "ALIVE" somehow piqued your attention.

Alive. Alive. Breathing. Surviving. Existing. Serving. Serving. Servitude. Life. Sacrifice.  
[Tools don't feel.]

Two realities collide together in the vortex of your mind. In one, you died. In the other, you...

(d e s p a i r e d)

You stare at the ceiling above you, vision blurry without your glasses. You blink. You swallow thick saliva. You inhale. Hold it. And...exhale.  
There's no denying that you're alive, even if just barely. You can't feel your fingers or toes, and there's a chill deep in the core of your body, encompassing your meridian as if your entire body had been frozen and thawed. You move your head slowly to your right.

He's still there. He's staring at the floor with an expression of...

...It's something complex, a hazy mixture of relief and deep sadness, and your tired mind can't process it. You can't feel it, but you see he's holding your hand. He has been for awhile, you realize, maybe since you were first moved to the cot. He'd sat down in a chair beside it and picked something up off the bed. You hadn't felt anything, naturally, because tools don't feel.

But that's not important right now. The wave of relief that passes over you when you realize he's still there is intense. Your vision is further distorted as tears accumulate in your eyes. As his troubled expression is washed out, you're not sure what you're feeling [tools don't feel] that's causing you to cry.

In an instant, he snaps back to attention, and things become difficult to process again. It takes you several seconds to realize he's wiping your tears and speaking to you. Focusing all your energy on understanding his words, you begin to tune in...

"...okay, everything's fine, alright? ...going to be...make sense soon, once...focus on getting better, then...going to have to let me help you, got it?"

No. You couldn't even pick up half of what he was saying. But your lips part and the faintest sound escapes your throat. You can't believe it's your own voice.

"Yes, Bocchan."

Those are the first words you've spoken since...

(dangling like a marionette and you SLASH SLASHSLASHS LASH and you turn and you don't see him  _you don't see him_  but you see the blood and you see his face. no. no. no no nononononono this isn't happening this was your punishment, not his, and you pull his weakened form close to your body a nd you do what you've always done. the only thing you've ever been able to do. the only way you've ever expressed yourself the only purpose for your very existence. You Protect The Young Master.)

The tears... Why the tears? You never cry. Mounting frustration reddens your face and the chill in your body becomes hot. But it doesn't matter. You're still immobile. The Young Master grips your shoulders and leans over you, and you can hear his voice. It's almost like he's shouting... That doesn't matter. It's his voice. His. voice.

You slowly blink. The rivers down your cheeks have dried, still gleaming where the tears had rolled down. You're once again rendered catatonic.

He slumps down in his seat, hand over his mouth. You simply lie there with your head turned, watching him. With all the strength you can muster you speak again. "...Bocchan."

He reaches over and takes your hand again. You think you can feel it, this time. Or maybe it's just your imagination.

Corpses [tools] don't feel.


	2. Three Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here she is.  
> Here... she is.

**THREE WORDS** ;- connections

* * *

 

"Oi... Hurry and wake up already."

Your knuckles rap pointlessly at the pod containing her sleeping body. No, sleeping isn't the right word. You don't just sleep for five months at a time.

_Comatose._

It's a word that's always in the back of your mind, a word you can't shake, a word that you hate with every fiber of your being. You hate it. But there she is. There, inside a pod that looks like something out of a science fiction manga, eyes shut.

Comatose.  
Might as well be dead.

Loud footsteps slap into the room, echoing off the walls. You don't look up when she ruffles your hair; you can already see the optimistic grin on her face in her reflection off the glass of the pod.

"You still waiting on Pekoyama, little man?"

Your response is soft, tired. Beaten. "Yeah."

"They'll wake up." Owari sounds confident. Then again, she always sounds confident. "Hinata says he's noticed signs of life in most of 'em lately."

"Most of them? What do you mean, 'most of them'?"

"Ehhhh, I'm not too sure, I guess! It's just what he said." She shrugs, then smiles encouragingly. "Don't get too hung up on the wording! If Hinata thinks they're getting better, you know they'll all be up and at it soon enough!" She slaps a hand on your back. "Pekoyama too! Hah, I can't wait to kick Old Man Nidai's ass back into shape when he finally comes to..."

And she talks, and she talks, and eventually you shrug her arm off your shoulders and walk away. You can't stand optimism. But at the same time you can't stand the idea that she might be gone for good.

* * *

That was two days ago. Just like Hinata predicted, here she is.

Here...she is.

You don't know what you were expecting, when the sealed pod opened. Was she going to stand up and walk out? You'd get down on one knee and propose to her right then and there?

You'll never forget how she looked, immediately after the lid to her pod elevated up. She squinted; the fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling must have been kind of shocking. But that wasn't it. It was her expression.

She was terrified.

That giddy joy you'd felt when Souda told you she was waking up, while you ran to the control room with all your strength, as the capsule opened; all of it vanished when you saw her face. There, in her first few moments of consciousness, you're reminded that she knows what it feels like to die.

_Execution._

That's another word you've come to loathe. You remember every detail of hers.  
Every.  
Horrifying.  
(slash slashslash blood my eye what happened this isn't a rescue this is ((allYourfault)) the opposite you made it worse her death more miserable than it already would have been. you,you—)  
Detail.

* * *

"Bocchan" is the only word she's spoken so far, aside from 'yes' and 'no'. You don't mind... When you were younger, you'd give her so much shit for calling you that, but it's...different now. She's different. You're different. Her voice is raspy and weak, but you're so fucking happy to hear it...

Souda rushes in and before he can speak you tell him to shut up, that Peko's sleeping. Obviously this isn't true; her eyes are open and directed at the ceiling, unblinking. Still, Souda lowers his voice before explaining. "Hinata says Pekoyama's blood tests are all good. The preliminary ones at least. Everything's lookin' up, heh!"

You look towards Peko. You don't know if she heard Souda, or if she did, whether she understood him. That gaunt face of hers just...stares at the ceiling. You glare at Souda. He retreats, grumbling under his breath.

Her face. She's not here, you realize.

That's the third word, the worst word, the word that you've come to hate more than anything else in the world.

You see it on her face now.  
She's remembering.  
She's remembering.

You squeeze her hand tighter.

_Despair._


	3. Retch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best of all possible worlds.

**RETCH** ;- connections

* * *

 

"I mean, it's not like I thought this was all going to turn out like a goddamn fairy tale! I'm not that naive! But come on, Peko! Snap out of it, alright?" He snaps his fingers in your face. You don't so much as blink.

"I allowed you to fall to great depths," you say quietly. Quiet. Tired. Broken. He doesn't look much better than you, though. His one remaining eye has a dark shadow under it, and his hair is messy and unkempt, the carefully shaved patterns on either side of his head overgrown. You watch him as he paces back and forth across the floor of his cabin.

"You act as if I was a child and you were my mother!" He stops near the wall and hits his head against the wood. Hard, from the sound of it.

You cringe at that. You want to get up, to grab him by the shoulders and tell him to stop, but you can't move from your wheelchair. You can't even wheel it on your own... It's so aggravating, so humiliating, depending on others for things as simple as getting from place to place. Using the bathroom is horrific. You nearly soiled yourself last night before finally mustering up the courage to send for Owari, who none too delicately helped you onto the toilet.

You're helpless.

You're helpless, and by extension, [useless]. You've been the latter for a long time now. Ever since you saw the first signs; ever since a baseball bat cracked the skull of a girl named Satou. (Useless.)

Trying to get that through the Young Master's head is difficult, but that's not unexpected. He's always had a stubborn spirit. That's one of the things that hasn't changed, as long as you have known him. Ah. Nostalgia.

He hits his head against the wall again.

"Bocchan, please stop."

He does it once more, forehead hitting the wood paneling with a dull thud. Obstinate. Pointlessly so. He turns to face you, a red mark clearly visible in the center of his forehead now. Then he says something you've never heard him say before.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this anymore."

"...Yes, Bocchan."

"How's your memory?"

"In working order."

"Feh, I doubt it. If it was, you'd be insane by now like the rest of us."

"You aren't insane, Bocchan."

"I went to Hell and dragged you with me."

"It's for the best that you didn't go alone."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and the defiance in his eyes flickers out. He looks at you for a long moment, opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops himself. Without another word, he gets down and lies on the cabin floor. He doesn't move for a very long time.

* * *

You're lying on the cabin floor. You can feel her eyes boring into the back of your head, but you just don't care.

The floor has been a good friend to you over these past few months. The floor is constant. The floor is steady. The floor is strong. You wish you were more like the floor. You wish everyone was more like the floor.

Peko used to be the ground you walked on. Always there. Constant. Steady. Strong. Reliable. She still would be now, if you hadn't taken her and broken her over your knee. The fact that she feels anything but disdain for you is bad enough, without her insisting on bearing the guilt for your many...many...many, many, many many many mistakes.

You think you might vomit, so you say goodbye to the floor and push yourself to your feet, walking wordlessly past her into the bathroom. You expect she can probably hear you retching over the toilet, despite you closing the door and turning the fan on.

You walk back into the room, wiping your mouth on the sleeve of your jacket. She looks paler, but she doesn't say anything. Her eyes are lifeless, focused on nothing in particular. You hate seeing her like this.

"Oi. You alive in there?" You sit on the edge of your bed, staring just as lifelessly across the room, eye focused on nothing in particular.

"I'm not sure," is her response.

Well put.


	4. Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains intense/disturbing content.

**SHIT** ;- connections

* * *

 

"You're going to shit yourself, you know," he comments, glancing at you from the bed. He's lying on his bed with his hands folded behind his head. How he can tell that you need to use the restroom, you have no idea. Maybe it's your expression.

"I'm fine," you lie.

He ignores you, pulling his PDA from his pocket and sending for Owari. _Dammit._

"Don't you dare shit yourself. I can't stand that smell."

( ~~ _blood mixed with shit mixed with_~~ )

"Corpses shit after they die. Shitting yourself is like dying. Don't fucking shit yourself."

Silence lingers for a moment, stroking your face with tendrils of shadow as you sink into a memory. He’s in the same place, most likely. These things can’t be washed away. They stay with you. Forever.

"I won't," you say stoically.

( _red ~~red blood trickling down his~~ face, blood ~~and mucus and tears, his~~ screaming as we kill ~~the mistress~~_ )

Shit.  
_Shit._  
**_Shit._**

* * *

Tools do not feel. Tools simply obey.

 _Despair._ You knew what it tasted like but you'd never eaten it whole, like the others. You couldn't. (Who are you lying to, Peko-chan?) Being a tool had its advantages.

(you hold him still while the young master pistol-whips him and breaks his nose. it bleeds and he calls the young master 'son' for the first time in years, and the young master _laughs_ )

You'd already stolen the guns. It was impossible to know where the Master and Mistress hid every weapon they owned, but you stole all you could find, and as it turned out, that was enough, given the circumstances. No one expected it. Not from their son; not from his tool. It was a well-planned execution of an entire family and their unfortunate laborers. And the dogs. _Why did you have to kill the dogs? Why couldn't you just tie them up and...?_

(snarling and growls and barking followed by whimpers followed by silence and you suddenly understand why they've always been afraid of you)

You killed the dogs first, before the family realized anything was wrong. The next casualty was a domestic servant. The Young Master shot him point-blank in the face. He had probably witnessed the carnage in the kennels and was running from the yard to the house. The Young Master was waiting with a loaded revolver. Bang. (BANG.)

Nothing you weren't used to by that point.

The body was discarded in the bushes, and the young master led you to the toilet.

"Shit," he commanded. "Take a shit, but don't you dare flush."

You had done strange things at your young master's request over the past several months, but this was by far the strangest. As he left you to your business, you glanced into the bowl. Two brown logs floated on the surface of the water. An odd numbness came over you as you pulled down your tights and panties and sat.

Your business finished, you were ordered to execute those servants and employees deemed the greatest potential threats by the young master. It was surreal, slinking through the shadows of the manor, stabbing, slitting, SLASHING the men and women you'd grown so accustomed to seeing over the years.

A pistol to his back and the tip of a katana to his throat were all it took. The Master was tied up and forced to watch the executions. This was the first time you'd seen the Master cry.

Fuyuhiko commanded you lead the party of three to the dojo. Naturally, you obeyed. [Naturally.] The Young Master insisted you kill Sensei yourself.

(you ambush him and attack him and dispatch him using the techniques he taught you himself and the young master tells you to lick his blood off your hands and you don't know _why_ but you don't question it you just. do.)

And when everything else was done, you dragged the beaten Master to the bathroom, as the Young Master commanded. "He's shit," said the Young Master. "He's going to die like shit."

It reeked. You held the Master still while the Young Master pushed his face into the toilet. He was laughing. He was laughing so hard he was crying. You said nothing as he slowly reloaded the pistol.

(why are you- why is this happening you shouldn't have let this happen this shouldn't be happBANG in the back of his head and BANG in his groin and BANG in the back of his head again and hes writhing he's dead but his body is writhing hold him still so the young master doesn't miss _**BANG BANG BANG**_ as he unloads the pistol into the man who raised him)

And when the pistol was empty, the Young Master reloaded it again. BANG. BANG. Blood and shit and bits of brain and skull splattered the inside of the toilet bowl. Some of it flecked on your faces and in spite of everything, your stomach lurched violently when you caught the taste of shit on a shard of skull as it hit your lips.

The Young Master stopped when the pistol was empty again and wiped the blood spatter from his face, panting. Slowly, you released the Master's body. It was still warm, but it wasn't moving anymore.

The Young Master flushed the toilet and grinned at you.  
You stared back at him.

* * *

He flushes the toilet and grins at you.  
You stare back at him.

You stand up, knees weak, unstrap the katana from around your back, and kneel down again.  
You place the weapon at his feet and bow your head.  
{I'm sorry I couldn't save you.}

"The hell are you doing, idiot?" He flushes the toilet again, and you keep your eyes cast downward.

"I am ready, Bocchan."  
"I told you not to fucking call me that. Ready for what?"  
"Ready for death."  
"The hell are you talking about? Get up. We're leaving."

You're stunned. You were supposed to be the final casualty, weren't you? The last surviving servant of the Kuzuryuu household?

"I told you to get up! Get up!"

You pick up your katana with shaky hands and do as you are told.

"Quit being so goddamn dramatic. C'mon, let's get out of here. Place smells like shit. I can't stand it."

You strap the weapon over your back again and follow him.


	5. Let It Fade

**LET IT FADE** ;- connections

* * *

 

You had a cot rolled into your room, and with the help of Owari, lifted Peko from one sedentary prison to another. She didn't complain.

She never complains.

It's late now. You lean against the headboard of your bed and watch her. Her braids are undone, eyes closed. You know she isn't sleeping.

Looking down, you pick at a scab on your right knuckles. How did that…? Oh, right. You'd punched the wall a few days ago. You can't remember why, exactly… Your emotional states are a blur of colors and it's hard to fixate on what feeling caused by what event elicited what reaction.

The scab starts bleeding. You suck at it, eyes wandering back towards Peko's immobile form. Is she asleep now? You're not sure. Sliding down from the headboard, you rest your head on the pillow and turn to face the wall.

{shutitoutshutitoutshutitoutshutitout}  
(letitinletitinletitinletitin)

* * *

You remember things, from when you were in (that place, that state of mind, that beautiful, tragic, devastating trance). Seeing her sleeping—pretending to sleep, most likely—on the concrete floor of a rotten-smelling bunker you'd stopped in for the night. A flashlight sat in the corner of the room, facing the ceiling and illuminating the bunker with a pale yellow light. That's the color she was shrouded in as you watched her, sitting against the wall with your knees elevated, shoes off, dirty socks pressed against the dirty floor. Through a hole in the ball of your right foot, the concrete felt cold.

You crushed an ant with your thumb as it marched across the floor beside you, then looked up at her again, face darkened with a scowl. She was beautiful. Too beautiful. It ruined the mood of the grimy, filthy place. You cursed mentally. Words played in your mind… You'd been thinking in (Her) voice lately; all your thoughts are (Her thoughts, Her words, Her ideas). You'd let (Her) consume your psyche, and the (despair) was intense. You, as an individual, had ceased to exist. You felt like you might vomit.

You returned your attention to the girl lying on the floor. (Her) voice was telling you she wasn't suffering enough; that she was too content with her situation. (Too content. Too full of {Hope}. Take the beauty for yourself so you can squander it.)

She was lying there on her side in those dirty, smelly clothes. It had been a long time since either of you bathed; even longer since you'd had the decency to wash your clothes. You crawled forward and knelt beside her. Your intentions were simple: to steal away the sense of security she had in your presence, to throw away the ridiculous trust she'd placed in you; _to_ _hurt her_.

{Don't.}  
(Do.)

Your hand hovered over her hip, ready to grab the hem of her skirt. Her eyes were open now. You couldn't see them, but you could feel it. Her eyes were open and she knew. (She knows what you're planning, Fuyu-senpai.)

(So go ahead and take her. She's too pathetic to resist.)  
{dontpleasedontpleasedontrememberthekittensremembertheEyesdontruineverythingnotyetNotyetnotyetnotyetyouCcouldntkillherdonttouchherdontRuinheryetshesalreadyyours}

It felt like an eternity. You remember watching your hand. It was trembling. (You weak-willed _**parasite**_ on the face of despair.) Looking up at the wall across from you, you could see the shadow you cast in the wavering glow from the flashlight, looming over her like the specter you'd become. For awhile, you stared at that image, transfixed.

{Don't.}  
{Touch.}  
{Her.}

You pulled your hand back and fell on your ass, then brought that same hand to your forehead. It was coated in a layer of cold, sticky sweat.

"You should sleep," she said quietly, not moving an inch.  
"Shut your fucking mouth," was your low-pitched response. She obeyed. (Of course she obeyed.)

The flashlight in the corner was growing dim. As you lied down beside her, facing the opposite wall, you realized you didn't have extra batteries. Oh well. Let it fade out.


	6. Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear dissection.

**BLAME** ;- connections

* * *

 

Tears stream down your cheeks and onto your lap and you wonder when you became so weak. [Tools do not cry. Tools do not feel.]

"You're not a tool," he says, his one remaining eye looking empty. Almost empty... There was a spark of...something...still left there. {Hope.} He stands before you as you sit on the cot, legs dangling off the end. It's strange, you think, looking up in order to see him. In a hesitant, clumsy manner, he raises one of your hands to his mouth and gently presses his lips against your knuckles.

No. No, no, _no no no_ -

* * *

It was simple. [Tools don't feel. Tools don't have free will. Tools only behave how they're told to behave.]  
It was so simple. It was so comforting. If you don't have free will, if you're incapable of feeling, then the things that you did were actions performed by your wielder. That's what you've been taught. That's the thing you cling to in order to cope with all of that...

(little girl in tattered clothes crying for her mother as you)

...All the things you did...

(gurgling chokes on her own blood as she)

...The people who died by your hand...

(make sure her heart stops beating)

...It was just...

"It was his fault, then?"

Hinata sat behind you. You could tell his eyes were focused elsewhere, and he was already bored with his task of watching over you while your Young Master went for a much-needed walk.

You took a moment to compose yourself; the tightened muscles on your face and neck told of an expression of distress, or perhaps even nausea. Not that it would do any good to pull your poker face on Hinata. He knew you were distressed. He knew everything. You sat up, turning to face him. Your expression was one of defiance as you played with your long hair, pleating it in a loose braid out of habit.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked hoarsely.

"Mm. I think you know," he replied, shooting you a glance. His eyes would be difficult to make out beneath the dark hair over his face were they not such a luminescent red. "Let's go with the given assumption that killing those civilians was wrong. And since you're clearly so concerned over the concept of blame, let's also assume that someone's at fault."

You raised a hand to your forehead. Now is not the time, Hinata...

"There are three reasonable potential culprits responsible for the deaths of the people you killed. You, Kuzuryuu, and Enoshima. Before you say Enoshima and take the easy way out, ask yourself if your 'master' had free will during that time."

"He wasn't in his right mind. No one was."

"Hah. So you plead insanity, then?" He gave a humorless smile. "Isn't Enoshima the most insane of all?"

You fell silent.

"Despair isn't a mental illness," Hinata posited. "It's more like an addiction. People commit murder for drugs. They're not in their right minds when they do that. Are they guilty of the crime?"

Nothing. There was no use in engaging him in dialogue. He had a rebuttal for everything, anyway.

"I'll put out three scenarios for you. Let me know what you think of them.  
"Scenario 1. Kuzuryuu, acting of his free will but influenced by Enoshima, uses you as a tool to commit murder. He is the culprit.  
"Scenario 2. Enoshima has total control of Kuzuryuu, effectively using him as her 'tool,' to use the terminology you're used to. A tool can't wield a tool, since it doesn't have any free will of its own. So in that case, who was wielding you?  
"Scenario 2A. Enoshima replaced your master by proxy. She is the culprit.  
"Scenario 2B. Your master being incapacitated, you took back your autonomy and worked independently of Enoshima and Kuzuryuu. You are the culprit."

"That is ridiculous," you protested. "Everything I did was with, and involved in, and... for... them..."

"Scenario 3," he continued, ignoring your interruption. "You and Kuzuryuu were both under the influence of Enoshima. You might have been cooperating under that tired 'tool' facade in the beginning, but it didn't last that way for long. You started working of your own free will, eventually." The hint of a smile crossed his pallid face. "You got _hooked_ on despair."

You looked down at the floor.

"Given those possibilities, you have to accept one or more of the following: Kuzuryuu is the culprit behind your actions. Kuzuryuu was dehumanized and reduced to the role of a tool. Enoshima became your master and controlled your actions. Or, you acted of your own free will, influenced by Enoshima and Kuzuryuu, but are ultimately responsible for your actions."

He said it all so calmly, so cleanly, laying out your fears and organizing them in a way that made sense. It was terrifying.

"I think you know what the truth is. If you were a tool, you wouldn't be so afraid of admitting it. Would you."

He...doesn't...understand. He _can't_ understand. He's talking as if he understands and he doesn't have the _right_.

"What is it that you're afraid of, exactly?"

You wanted to say you didn't know, but an answer slipped from Hinata's lips before you had the chance. "'I don't know how to be a person, and I don't know how to accept responsibility for my actions. I'm dangerous, I'm a murderer, and I don't know how to live with myself.' Does that sound about right?"

You nodded. You just nodded. What else was there to do besides nod?

He nodded back. "You know who can show you how that works, right? Living with yourself while taking responsibility for the unspeakable things you've done?"

You _did_ know, but you didn't give any indication that his words made sense.

So he went on. "It would have to be a person who considers you a human being... who's _always_ considered you a human being... and forgave you anyway."

The young master entered the cabin. Instinctively, you turned on your bed to face him. You hadn't realized it, but the expression on your face must have been one of great distress, because the young master began to yell at Hinata--should you even call him that anymore? It seems there's another name that would be much more fitting--and told him to 'get his sorry ass out of my cabin before I shove my shoe in it'. _Poorly worded_ , you thought offhandedly. Hinata got up, no sign of intimidation on his expressionless face, and left without a word.

* * *

"I'm alright, Bocchan. We were only talking."

"What the fuck did he say to you?" The anger his his words removes all meaning from them. "I'll beat the shit out of him! I'll..." He seems to realize how ridiculous such a suggestion is and quiets, running a hand through his hair. It's still shaggy. He could really use a trim.

When he speaks again, his voice is calmer. "...What did you talk about?"

You shake your head and look down. You don't want to think about it. You feel so tired, after that talk. You just want to...sleep...?

The young master gently takes your chin and lifts it, examining your face. You stare back at him. Where two golden eyes used to be, there's now only one. You feel [don't feel] as if you've been punched in the gut.

Finally, he relents. "...Alright. Forget him for now, then."

He releases your chin and sits on his bed, seeming to be lost in thought. You remain motionless, watching him. A few times, you think he's about to speak, but each time he stops himself.

Your legs swing the slightest bit, as if moved by the very rotation of the earth.

Then the young master stands up and looks at you. You assume that this time, he's going to speak. You watch him attentively.

"I got... Uh..." His cheeks flush pink, the blush reaching the tips of his ears. He breaks eye contact. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for awhile, alright?"

Your heart sinks. _No. No, please don't. Please don't. Please..._

"I really..." He clears his throat.

_Please don't say it._

"...I love you, Peko."

You don't say anything. What is there to say?

"...That's... That's it," he says after a brief silence. His words seem to hang in the air. Your head tilts down again and you stare at your lap. He takes your hands again, clearly hoping for some sort of response. Your arms are limp. You try to ignore a buzzing noise in the back of your head. Finally, the young master speaks again. "...Aren't... Aren't you...? Don't you have something to say? Anything?!"

You're quiet a brief while longer before you look back up at him. "It is foolish to love a damaged tool." Tears stream down your cheeks and onto your lap and you wonder when you became so weak. [Tools do not cry. Tools do not feel.]

"You're not a tool," he says, his one remaining eye looking empty. Almost empty... There was a spark of...something...still left there. {Hope.} He stands before you as you sit on the cot, legs dangling off the end. It's strange, you think, looking up in order to see him. In a hesitant, clumsy manner, he raises one of your hands to his mouth and gently presses his lips against your knuckles.

No. No, no, _no no no-_


	7. Submerged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naked and afraid.

**SUBMERGED** ;- connections

* * *

 

As Sonia hums some foreign song, you give a slight shiver. Your arms are crossed over your chest, legs pressed together as if you're repressing the urge to urinate.

You hate bath time.

Sonia, for her part, seems completely at ease, leaning over the tub and gently rubbing your back and shoulders with a soapy cloth. "It really is so wonderful to have you back, Pekoyama-san!" she says in her characteristically cheerful voice. Her voice is one of the few things about her that hasn't changed. Her once flowing blonde hair has been cut to chin level, tied back with a bandanna. Her sallow skin and skinny stature are emphasized by the loose-fitting tank-top she sports for bathing duties.

She hardly looks like a princess. Then again, you hardly look like a swordswoman.

"You know, Kuzuryuu-san has missed you a great deal," she says, as if this fact hasn't been made quite clear already. "Lean forward, please."

You do as she asks.

"I have been waiting most anxiously for Tanaka-san to awaken," she continues. "But poor Kuzuryuu-san... It was dreadful for him, losing a childhood friend."

"We aren't childhood friends," you counter softly, sitting up again so Sonia can shampoo your hair.

Sonia nods very slightly, clearly uncomfortable with your response. "Well... It seemed as if Kuzuryuu-san considered you as such."

You grit your teeth. You know it's unseemly for you to feel anger towards your master, but irritation is bubbling up inside of you. It isn't fair, you think, for a tool to suddenly and actively be regarded as a human. The feeling is fleeting, and quickly replaced by a deep sense of remorse. You have no right to judge the young master's choices concerning how he views you or how he presents you to others.

"Lean back and dunk your hair under the water."

You lean back. Slowly... using your hands for balance...

Weak.  
When did you become so weak? Weak enough that your hand could slip and your abdominal muscles can't support you?

Your eyes are open. They burn in the soapy water as you stare up at the light above, cloudy through the soap and water.

(Don't fight it. Come back to me. I miss you, angel. We all miss you.)

* * *

"How many are there?" asked Koizumi. She attempted to wipe a splotch of mud from her cheek. It smeared instead.

"Sixty-seven," said Kamukura without a second's hesitation.

Koizumi, Kamukura, Souda, Komaeda, and the young master stood atop a hill. You remained nearby, surveying the damage the broken dam had caused. Bodies bobbed up and down in the flooded valley below, skin sickly white, gaunt faces staring lifelessly at the bottom of what is now a slow-moving river.

"Look at how beautiful they are...! Souda is somewhat reliable after all. I...I need to snap some pictures of this..."

"Wasn't that hard to rig the mechanism that opens the damn thing up. ...Heh. Dam. Damn."

"Shut the fuck up, Souda."

One face that passed by was upturned. His lips were white, eyes glazed over with a thin film, making them appear almost blue. The body snagged between the branches of a partially submerged tree. It pulled against its captor, trying to follow the current, but to no avail.

The melancholic, hoarse laughter of Komaeda drifted through the air like the sound from a broken music box. "A flood of despair... And yet...their bodies rise up to the surface...conquering it... Aha...hahaha... Sacrifices for hope... Look at their smiles..."

"Not a single one of those corpses is smiling, you sack of shit."

"Look at their smiles..."

The body ensnared by the tree's branches tilted onto its side in its attempt to escape. For an instant, you could have sworn it was staring right at you.

"Look at their smiles..."

* * *

"Pekoyama-san! Are you alright?"

You'd been underwater for less than two seconds before Sonia, now wet all down her front, managed to pull you up again. Your eyes burn from the soap. You nod mutely.

"I'll have to be more careful in the future! I vow that I will not allow you to be submerged again!"

How she can feign that level of energy when her eyes are so tired is beyond you.


	8. Side by Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her fingers are cold.

**SIDE BY SIDE** ;- connections

* * *

 

You sit on the floor, arms wrapped around your knees. She sits there next to you, back against the wall, wrapped in two blankets. She smells sweet and clean, just out of the bath. You hadn't wanted her to sit on the floor, but she insisted. Who were you to deny her the autonomy you'd always hoped she'd grasp onto?

It's been two days since your botched love confession. You're grateful that things have gone as well as they have. That being, nothing has really changed. She hasn't mentioned it. She hasn't rejected you either, at least not verbally, though you don't think she's really capable of doing that.

She shivers. You crawl in front of her and tighten the blankets around her before crawling towards her cot and retrieving her slippers, sliding one onto each foot. She mumbles a thank you and you hesitate. Your hands... Are they shaking...? You know she sees it too, even though she stays quiet. You slip back to your previous position next to her and she starts to remove one of her blankets... She offers it to you silently. You take it and wrap it snugly around her again. She exhales softly, but doesn't argue.

Her eyes are tired... Her whole face is tired. Through your peripheral vision as you stare straight ahead across your cabin, it's as if there's an old woman sitting next to you. You shoot a glance in her direction.

No. It's still Peko. Her features are careworn, the mark of a woman who's seen more than she should have in her twenty years of life, but she's still beautiful. You're sure she can feel your gaze burning into her... Her intuition has always been like a cat's... So you don't stare for long, just enough to reassure yourself it's still her sitting beside you.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask her.

"Am I to answer honestly?" is her response.

Your gaze drifts back to her. She's still staring straight ahead. Her eyes are unnaturally still. You nod. "...Yeah."

"I'm thinking about a young girl I killed... She couldn't have been any older than ten or eleven. She was shouting for her mother."

Oh.  _Oh_. You scratch the back of your head, avoiding eye contact. Your hair's getting scruffy...you'll have to ask Sonia to give you a trim.

It's a moment before she speaks again. "I'm a murderer," she says softly. There's...emotion in her voice. Just barely, but it's enough to make you turn your head and look at her again. There are no tears, and you see her eyes flicker towards your face before staring forward again. She isn't up for eye contact right now, you assume. You stare straight ahead again.

"You're alright, Peko."

You both fall quiet after that. You feel sick to your stomach...  _Murderer_... She's a killer, thanks to you, yes, but a  _murderer_? The one that holds culpability for the lives lost? You feel something deep inside you break as you're overwhelmed by the reminder that she blames herself for the things that happened, the people who died... (It was your fault. You fell into despair and you dragged her along for the ride. how does that feel, fuyuhiko? how does it feel to know that every ounce of pain she feels is because of your impulsiveness, your selfishness, your cruelty. you animal. dis gusting animal. the age on her face, the innocence she lost, the things she's done the things she's seen the nightmares that haunt her  
night after night after restless night. how does it feel to watch her fidget in her cot from across the room in the dead of night? she never had nightmares before. she never had nightmares before. look at what you've done. look at what you've done to her. it's your fault.

It's all.  
Your--)

You hardly notice when her head hits your shoulder, its descent is so gradual. In that instant everything stops. It must be uncomfortable for her, given your height difference. Somewhere, under the blankets that envelop her, your hand finds hers. Fingers intertwine and your heart is beating fast...too fast. What are you, twelve?

You want to say something, to confirm that everything is okay, even something as chaste as this, but you're terrified that you'll frighten her away, like you might a small animal that's finally brave enough to approach you. She feels so calm... It compensates for your pounding heart and sweaty palms. You hope she doesn't register your nervousness. But you know she does. She shifts very slightly beside you in order to make her position more comfortable, and it takes everything you have not to turn and kiss her forehead. But you manage to resist. Somehow.

You spend the night that way. When morning comes, her neck will be stiff and aching, and your arm will have long since fallen asleep. It doesn't matter. You'll wake up on the floor with your head resting against hers, fingers still interlocked, even if you can't feel them. Side by side, like you've always been. You might cry, though you'd never admit it, not even to yourself.


	9. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new arc begins with the death of a Remnant of Despair. Kuzuryuu faces a test of nerves and trust as a friend begins to fade into a frightening but familiar enigma.

To: Hanamura, Teruteru; Kuzuryuu, Fuyuhiko; Mioda, Ibuki; Nevermind, Sonia; Nidai, Nekomaru; Owari, Akane; Pekoyama, Peko; Souda, Kazuichi; Tsumiki, Mikan

Subject: [None]

Komaeda's system stopped responding today. I have left his pod running for the time being to postpone decomposition. Owari and Kuzuryuu are to dig his grave. Souda and Nidai will prepare a makeshift coffin. Sonia and Pekoyama will prepare the body for burial. Hanamura, Mioda, and Tsumiki are asked to focus on their respective recoveries.

I will be available to contact via email. I will not be answering phone calls or personal visits until later notice.

Regards,  
Hinata Hajime

* * *

 **MERCY** -; identities

* * *

 

"You think he's gonna want a funeral for him?" Owari stomps down on her shovel and scoops out a large chunk of dirt.

You do the same, working opposite her. Komaeda has been the only death so far, though Hinata has said things look bleak for Koizumi and the Impostor too. Your eye flickers up to meet hers briefly before it's once again cast down towards the grim task assigned to you.

"No. I don't think he's going to come out until he's buried."

"Ah?" Owari leans against her shovel, staring curiously at you. "But Hinata loves corpses!"

Your face twists into a slight scowl. "Kamukura loved corpses," you correct her, digging your shovel into the earth again. "How many goddamn times are we going to have to explain it to you?"

She lets out an annoyed puff of air before she continues digging. "Yeah, yeah, I don't see why you're all so picky about which name I use. They're basically the same person, ya know."

"The fact that they've lived in the same body doesn't mean a damn thing."

You say that, but you know her words aren't entirely without merit. The Hinata Hajime you'd grown close to during your time in the simulation has all but disappeared. It's kind of painful, watching him struggle to maintain a persona for the sake of the rest of you, when it's clear that he's close to losing touch completely with his former identity.

"Buuuut, I guess you have a point, ya know?" Owari puts on a thoughtful expression, which, for her, is akin to one of confusion. "I mean, Hinata didn't like the guy. Komaeda, I mean. Not in the simulation or beforehand."

"None of us did."

"So why's he going into mourning then?"

You grunt as your shovel hits a rock. "...Ngh. Because," you snap, "it's respectful."

Why can't she shut up? There have been thoughts buzzing around your mind in the hours since the email arrived. Dark thoughts, ones you'd like to dismiss despite the fact that a chill pricking the back of your neck tells you they're more than just empty concerns.

* * *

"He's not going to wake up," Hinata said, tapping the glass to Komaeda's pod with chilling nonchalance. You and Souda stood by, watching him as dropped his hand to his side and paced slowly alongside the pod. "He's only getting worse. He's dying." Sharp red eyes met yours, and you could practically smell Souda's growing anxiety.

"W...Well, we gotta at least wait on him!" the mechanic sputtered. He nervously scratched at a thin scar along his upper arm. "'S a miracle the others started wakin' up! Maybe he'll get better!"

"He's dying," Hinata repeated. "If his system ever does recover enough to function without the machine, odds are he'll still be comatose, or at least in a vegetative state."

Souda went quiet, intimidated. But you weren’t satisfied. After a few moments, you spoke up.

"Why are you telling us this, Hinata?"

He stopped pacing and rested his hands on the glass and stared down at the sleeping form beneath it. Even from a distance, you coils see the luminescent reflection of his eyes bouncing ofrom the reflective green-tinted glass. He didn’t say anything. You spoke again.

"What are you planning to do?"

A soft, humorless laugh escaped his throat and he lifted his head to look at you. There was no emotion on his face. There never was.

"Nothing."

* * *

Those thoughts running through your mind, those dark ideas of what might have happened... They aren't really suspicions, no matter what you try to tell yourself. You already know.

You drive your shovel into the ground again when you feel your PDA buzz in your pocket. One new message.

* * *

Standing outside of Hinata's cottage, you begin to second guess yourself. Is this really safe? Is he really stable? It's not beyond the realm of possibility that he might be luring you here to commit murder.

You stand in front of the door for five minutes or so, weighing your trust in him against your fear of him.

Knock, knock.

The doorbells aren't functional in the 'real' version of the island, so you rap your knuckles against the door and take a step back. A minute or so passes. You're beginning to think he's changed his mind, and you're turning to walk off when you hear the click of the door unlocking.

Hinata opens the door. He stares at you in sullen silence for several seconds. You simply stare back. His right eye twitches.

"Kuzuryuu," he says at last, stepping aside so you can enter. You step into the cottage, glancing around with a furrowed brow. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off, it's cool, it's silent, and something smells dank.

It's like walking into a tomb.

It sounds almost like a suction when Hinata slams the door shut again, and you stiffen, suddenly uncomfortable with having your back turned to him.  _Don't be ridiculous. This is {Hinata}. (Kamukura) is gone._

_(Don't delude yourself. You can't rehabilitate brain damage.)_

"I assume you know," Hinata says in a hoarse voice.

At length, you exhale. You're playing a game of chicken with him, testing yourself to see how long you can have your back facing him without losing your nerve. "Why did you do it?"

"I already told you." He walks past you and flops onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "He was as good as dead."

"But he wasn't dead, Hinata," you snap, feeling a strange tightening in your chest. "What are you going to put on that report?"

"The one that needs to be sent in to the Future Foundation?"

"No, the other legally mandated report. Yes, that report!"

"The truth. It was a mercy killing."

"They'll deem you a threat to society."

"They'd be right."

"You'll be executed."

"Will I."

"Stop being such a smartass. If they decide it's impossible for you to be rehabilitated, they could easily make the same call for the rest of us. I know empathy isn't exactly your thing, but for the love of god, you can't just throw us all under the bus because you're getting bored of life here!"

Hinata shifts on his bed, turning onto his side so his back faces you. "So you want me to lie on the report, then."

"Yes!"

"...Fine." He slips under the covers, still facing away from you. "Will you be sleeping with your good eye open from now on?"

You turn and walk towards the door. "I already was. Everyone on this island is a murderer."

You think you can hear a humorless chuckle escape his throat as you step outside and close his door.


	10. Hope's Ghost

**HOPE'S GHOST** ;- identities

* * *

 

You can hear his raspy breathing in your ear as he moves his sickly yellow face near yours and whispers.

"We're a lot alike, Pekoyama-san."

Having seen how the others treated him, you don't hesitate to send a blow to his abdomen as punishment for invading your personal space. You're amazed at how gently he falls backwards, as if he's made of cardboard. He hits the ground laughing.

"Ow," he says between chuckles, putting a hand to his stomach. "You don't even want…to listen to what I have to say?"

His eyes are like a void. No… Like a void that could engulf a void. Those dark blue-green eyes atop yellowing whites create a strong illusion of rotating, as if they're the very force that keeps the world in orbit. He speaks while you're lost in those cosmic eyes.

"You're not here for the same reasons as the others," he says from the ground with a pleasant smile. "You're not here in pursuit of despair." Lithe hands rest on the ground on either side of his body. "You're not here for your own sake at all…"

You reach behind your back and draw your katana. Examining the blade, it's apparent you haven't cleaned it well since it was last used. When did you last use it…? You can't remember the faces of its more recent victims….

"You're here to protect something…" he continues. "To protect something of utmost importance."

There, right there. He stepped on a nerve. You never used to be temperamental, but recent events have left you paranoid and hyper-reactive. A seething rage burns through your body like acid, and in a swift motion, you point the blade at Komaeda, holding the tip mere inches from his neck. He doesn't seem to register it; either that, or he simply doesn't mind, because he continues to speak, unaffected.

"I'm here…to bring about the most extraordinary wave of hope…" he whispers, smiling. "I've learned that the darker the despair gets, the more radiant the resulting hope will become. We're giving birth to an era of unprecedented glory…by embracing…" He begins to cough, unable to finish. The tip of your katana still points at his throat, unmoving.

"I'm…protecting that hope…" he gasps after his coughing fit. "I'm trying so hard… But effort is minimally important in a game like this. I was born weak and incompetent. I'll never foster hope on my own… I can only do my part to create the despair that brings about the hope that future geniuses will bear… I'm only good for despair… I'm only good for despair… I'm…" He laughs lightly, amiably, as his dazed eyes fix on you again.

"And you…" You stiffen. "You're protecting something you have no hope of reclaiming on your own, too. You can't save your young master. All you can do is fall with him and hope you soften his landing."

The sword in your hand trembles slightly, and Komaeda pushes the tip out of the way of his throat and stands up, walking closer to you again. "You can't save him, Pekoyama-san… But it's so amazing, the way you threw away everything you had for an impossible cause!" His smile seems genuine, even friendly, but his face is too close to yours. "It's arrogant of me to say we're alike, but it's so obvious… We're both too incompetent to directly aid the cause we've dedicated ourselves to. Isn't that right, Pekoyama-san." His breath is rancid. " _Isn't that right._ "

* * *

Your eyes open wide and you gasp for breath. Your right calf is aching; you'd contracted your muscle in your sleep and find yourself unable to relax it. The young master is by your side in a matter of seconds, and you curse internally—you must have made noises in your sleep that woke him up.

"Peko… Calm down, Peko," he mumbles, taking your hand as you sit up. You can feel the sticky sweat coating your forehead, and you stare past the young master as he uses the corner of his sleeve to dry your face.

He's here.

He's standing in the corner of the room, hands tucked limply into his jacket pockets. It's difficult to see his pale form in the darkness, especially when you're surrounded by the fog of sleepiness and your glasses are out of reach, but you can just barely make out an impossibly gentle, impossibly warm, impossibly innocent smile on his face. He raises a hand—not his hand, but  _a_  hand—and waves good-naturedly to you. You don't realize you're trying to stand up until your young master shouts at you.

You snap back to reality with enough force to give you whiplash, and you're perplexed that your legs had somehow slung themselves over the side of the bed of their own will. You can feel your pulse in your ears. As Bocchan presses his forehead to yours, mumbling something in an attempt to calm you down, your mind and expression go blank. Out of the corner of your eye, you're can see the unoccupied corner of the room that had gripped your attention moments before, completely vacant.

The young master pulls his face back, holding onto your shoulders.

"You doing better?"

"Yes, Bocchan," you say quietly. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"Eh…" He shrugs it off, releasing your shoulders and stepping backwards, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "You didn't wake me up. I've been having trouble sleeping lately. No cause for alarm or anything," he assures you, anticipating your response. "I've just had a lot on my mind."

"Do you wish to discuss it?" you ask quietly.

He doesn't answer. For a while you think he's considering your offer, but then he shifts and climbs under the covers of his bed.

"Go the fuck to sleep, alright?"

"Yes, Bocchan. Goodnight."

"'Night, Peko."


	11. Hidden Things

**HIDDEN THINGS** ;- identities

* * *

 

You don’t like hiding things from her.

After everything you’d both somehow managed to pull through, after all the heartache and chaos and (despair despair despair despair despair) you’d really hoped that you could be fully honest with each other.

Naïve, you now realize. Naïve if not flat-out stupid.

You hadn’t accounted for Hinata’s regression into his current state. Komaeda’s death was probably inevitable, even without intervention. He really had been dying… Hadn’t he?

Hinata had sent you a rambling email the evening of Komaeda’s burial, a confusing and disjointed thread that alternated between Japanese and other languages—English and French, you eventually concluded. He relayed all he knew about Komaeda’s history, emphasizing the astounding powers of his luck, both good and bad, and how he’d broken a “curse” of some sort by “releasing” the poor bastard before he could wreak havoc on the living occupants of the island. You’re proficient enough in English to understand most of what he relays in that language, but the French is hopelessly alien to you. You briefly consider commissioning Sonia’s help, but decide against it.

The fact that Hinata had murdered Komaeda was certain. The faint smell of almonds lingered around the body. It was hardly noticeable, and if you hadn’t known the death was foul play, you wouldn’t have noticed the odor—unmistakable to you, who oversaw so many murders in your twenty years of life.

How he got his hands on the poison is an utter mystery. However, you manage to commandeer the cyanide from him the following night. He was surprisingly cooperative, giving it up without much protest. Wearing gloves from the kitchen, you filled the little bottle with sand, screwed the lid on tight, and flung it into the ocean. The gloves went in the trash, and you returned to your cabin, where Peko was pretending to sleep.

That was a week ago.

Now you’re waking up to a loud banging at your cabin door. You curse under your breath and stand up, motioning for Peko to lie back down before you swing the door open and mutter at Souda to shut the fuck up.

“N-No! No! Y-Y’don’t understand! It’s Saionji!”

You feel a cold stone like a block of ice sink in your stomach, and you step outside. Blinking in the early morning sunlight, you shut the door and hiss, “What about her?”

“She’s gone! Missing! Vanished!”

You stare at the half-hysterical mechanic, a sudden dizziness hitting you like a sharp blow to the head that nearly sends you reeling backwards. It takes a moment for you to gather your bearings, and you take a deep breath before ordering Souda to take a few steps back; you don’t want to have to smell his disgusting morning breath. And finally, you react.

“What do you mean she’s ‘missing’?”

“It’s just what it says on the box! I was doin’ the morning rounds, checkin’ on the pods, an’ suddenly I realize one of ‘em’s open! She just up and disappeared! And Hinata won’t answer his door!” The poor guy is in tears at this point, and he wipes his nose on his sleeve.

You balk at the mention of Hinata’s evasiveness. Based on how Souda had pounded on your door, you doubt he could have just slept through the mechanic’s attempt at getting his attention. You swallow a lump in your throat.

You turn around and walk back into your cabin, locking the door behind you as Souda flings himself against the blocked entryway, crying, cursing, threatening, begging you to come help him. You hardly hear him though. You see a myriad of colors; they distort your vision, a hypnotic kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. Souda’s voice seems to break and distort as well. A raucous chorus of voices rings out from every direction, too loud and too many for you to pick out any real meaning. You feel lost in that stupor for hours, days, months, an eternity, a place where time no longer exists, where one of two people you’ve ever fully trusted holds a knife to your throat, where the orange and yellow hues of dancing kimonos draw nearer and nearer until they’re a blazing red. You don’t know if you scream or if you just imagine yourself screaming, but something powerful breaks the illusion that surrounds you and you’re suddenly leaning back against something warm, the voices fading, the colors dimming until you’re unsure if you can see at all. Two arms hold your shaking form, and you can feel the soft brush of a gentle breath at the back of your head.

It takes you some time to orient yourself, but as your trembling stops and your breathing returns to normal, you realize you’re on your bed with Peko kneeling behind you, arms wrapped around you, rocking you gently. You reach up and wipe the sweat from your brow and murmur an apology, which receives no verbal response, although her arms briefly tighten around you.

You hate hiding things from her. You expect she heard about what happened to Saionji, but what about everything else? No, no, no no no, you tell yourself. This is for her own good. Any mention of Hinata’s recent behavior would put her on high alert. She’s dealing with enough as it is. So, as you recover from the throes of the worst bout of panic you’ve ever experienced, you swear to her that fatigue and shock had gotten the better of you. She doesn’t believe you for a second, but she accepts your explanation and offers to make you tea.

It dawns on you, yet again, that you worship the ground she walks on.


	12. Dreamscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. It's been a long time, hasn't it? You may want to reread the last few chapters to refresh if you're rusty on where we are in this confused jumble of a story. Please enjoy the dreamscape.

**SURVIVORS** \- HINATA HAJIME, KUZURYUU FUYUHIKO, OWARI AKANE, SONIA NEVERMIND, SOUDA KAZUICHI

 **CONSCIOUS** \- HANAMURA TERUTERU, MIODA IBUKI, NIDAI NEKOMARU, PEKOYAMA PEKO, TSUMIKI MIKAN

 **COMATOSE** \- KOIZUMI MAHIRU, TANAKA GUNDAM, THE IMPOSTOR

 **DECEASED** \- KOMAEDA NAGITO

 **UNKNOWN** \- SAIONJI HIYOKO

* * *

**DREAMSCAPE** ;- identities

* * *

 

"SAIONJI!"  
  
"Saionji- _saaaan_!"  
  
The voices of your young master and Sonia ring from opposite ends of the island. Far away, on the island hosting the control room, you can dimly register similar cries from the other three members of the search party.  
  
You stare down at your hands. They're rough, calloused, and dry from months of dehydration in your stasis pod. You form fists, then open and relax them.  
  
"Saionji!"  
  
"Kuzuryuu-san! Will you search by the farm?"  
  
"Ah, yeah!"  
  
It's hard to pinpoint where the voices are coming from, until one speaks softly just beside you.  
  
"Isn't it silly?"  
  
You glance up at Tsumiki, who sits in a wheelchair to your left. Her hands are balanced on her lap atop a blanket, her entire body limp and immobile besides her face.  
  
"She's dead, you know," the nurse said in her soft, raspy voice. It's the voice you've come to recognize as belonging to anyone who recently emerged from their slumber.  
  
Tsumiki was the most recent to be revived, joining the other survivors only two days before Komaeda's death. Shortly before her, Mioda had awakened, and Hamamura before that, though you have yet to see either of them. You woke before him—the second to return to consciousness. And before you, first to rise, was Nidai.  
  
The big man isn't so big as he was in your memories, but then, no one is. That being said, he seemed to recover faster than anyone else; even now, he was on the second island with the other portion of the search party. You woke only a day after him, and you're still forbidden from standing on your own. [Useless. Weak.]  
  
"Why do you think that?" you ask Tsumiki after a long moment of silence. You don't want to know what her answer is, but the silence hanging in the air is getting heavy.  
  
"I-I killed her," Tsumiki whispers, giggling under her breath. "I...slit her throat... that evil bitch... and listened to her gurgle..."  
  
"That wasn't real." You look away from her, back down at your hands.  
  
"Neither is this," she says softly. "When... When they sent me...shooting off into the sky... I saw her..."  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
"My love, and—"  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
"—she told me how the world was a lie, and sh-she missed me..."  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
"We'll see her again... Like Komaeda-san, and Saionji... She wants us back, Pekoyama-san... My...love..."  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
Tsumiki's eyes shine with tears as she lets out a breathy laugh. "My Junko-sama..."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
And suddenly you're standing, gripping one arm of Tsumiki's wheelchair with one hand and hovering over the timid nurse as she stares up at you, soft, unintelligible noises passing through her parted lips. Despite her incoherence, her eyes seem to shimmer with a life you haven’t seen on anyone else since you awoke.  
  
"Don't say that name," you hiss.  
  
Her expression twists, contorting between timid, pathetic and weepy, and sullen and defiant. Then she smiles gently, moves a trembling hand atop yours, and whispers, "Enoshima Junko-sama."  
  
Your throat leaps into your mouth and you give her a warning. "Don't."  
  
"Enoshima Junko-sama. Enoshima Junko-sama. Enoshima—"  
  
_Smack._  
  
You smack her. _All you can do_ is smack her across the cheek with your free hand. For a moment, she stares up at you, lower lip quivering, her big eyes shiny and shocked. Then the tears come, intermixed with breathy giggles. Aggravated, but also ashamed, you withdraw, standing upright.

“Pekoyama-san!”

You look to your right. Sonia is striding to you with an admonishing expression, and you prepare yourself to be scolded like a child for slapping Tsumiki. Very well. It won’t be undeserved.

“Pekoyama-san, sit down at once!” Sonia insists as she moves closer, taking the handlebars of your wheelchair and pushing it toward you.

What? You blink at her, surprised by her request. (She thinks you’re weak.)

(You are weak.)

[You obey when you are ordered.]

(Weak.)

[Obey.]

( _WEAK_.)

“No,” you say softly. You can feel Tsumiki’s wet gaze on you from where she sits, but you don’t meet her stare. Sonia’s grey eyes narrow.

“Pekoyama-san,” she says carefully, “please sit. Your physical health is--”

“Nidai is out right now, doing his part to find Saionji,” you interrupt, your voice low, but stern. It almost sounds like...you.

“It was not my decision to allow that,” Sonia says lowly. “Hinata-san decided his recovery was progressing quickly enough for more strenuous physical activity.”

“I would like to stand, Sonia.”

For a moment you and the princess stare at each other, each ignoring Tsumiki’s soft giggling as it floats up into the air around you like so many bubbles.

Then Sonia’s radio buzzes.

“SONIA! KUZURYUU!”

The voice on the other end is Owari’s, out of breath and exhilarated. Sonia forgets her battle of wills with you and struggles to pull her radio from her belt as the transmission continues.

“Souda found… S-Souda’s-- He’s runnin’ your way! He found her!”

“Is she alive?” The young master’s voice sounds from the radio as Sonia finally gets hers unhooked.

There is dead air on the radio for awhile. You feel your pulse in your jugular. Sonia seems unable to breathe, one hand over her mouth as she stares at the radio. Tsumiki hums softly.

“I dunno,” Owari responds after a moment. “I-I’m tryin’...to help Old Man Nidai… He got himself all worn out.”

“HA!” Nidai’s booming voice is unmistakable behind Owari’s.

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” The young master’s voice is audible both over the radio and up the boardwalk as he rejoins you. He stops in his tracks when he sees you standing, and you almost feel a proud smile begin to crawl across your face before he looks to Sonia and snaps, “This is what happens when we put the idiots in the same search party. They’re all over the damn place.”

You shrink a bit. [Selfish. The young master and the others are concerned for your former classmate, and you almost had the gall to smile.]

“Oi! OI! SONIA-SAN! KUZURYUU!”

Three heads turn toward the boardwalk as Souda, out of breath and eyes wide, staggers past the cabins toward you.

The mechanic carries a pale, stiff figure in his arms. She looks so...small... Her time in a coma left her so tiny, she almost looks like she did upon entering Hope's Peak years ago.  
  
You never much liked the snide little dancer, but the sight of her body in the mechanic's arms somehow hits you like a blow to the gut, and you find yourself collapsing back into the chair you'd so defiantly refused mere moments ago.  
  
"Saionji-san..." Sonia whispers from behind you. Your young master stares blankly at the approaching group, his face void of any expression.  
  
"Tsumiki!" Souda shouts, breaking into a run once he spots the nurse among your party of four. "Tsumiki, y-y-you gotta tell us what to do! She's—"  
  
"She's alive?" Bocchan's eyes widen, suddenly alert again as he rushes with Sonia toward Souda. Owari and Nidai approach shortly after, the latter with an arm around the gymnast's skinny shoulders, walking slowly and out of breath.  
  
"'Course she is!" Souda wheezed, clinging to the girl almost protectively. "Y-You think I'd come runnin' here to tell you there's nothin' we can do?! Tsumiki, c-can you look her over? She's—"  
  
"Dead," the nurse whispers, drawing a startled look from Souda.  
  
"N-No! She's breathing real shallow and she's got a fever or something, but—"  
  
"How lucky," Tsumiki muses with a gentle smile, eyes glazing over. "She and Komaeda-san... Junko-sama is drawing them closer..."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Ignore her," Fuyuhiko mutters to Souda. "Listen; Sonia, go get the medical kit. You three—" He gestures to Souda, Owari, and Nidai. "—set her up on a cot inside."  
  
"Oi, what about you?!" Souda demands as Sonia rushes off to get the first aid kit.  
  
"I'm gonna get Hinata's two cents on what the hell to do about this even if I have to break his goddamn door down!"

He strides off without acknowledging you; in fact, he didn’t acknowledge you once during the entire ordeal, a first since your awakening. You observe the set of his back carefully as he goes, then glance toward Tsumiki. A thread of saliva down her chin shines in the late morning sun.

“You know,” Tsumiki whispers. “You know that this place is a dream. The next world will be a dream too. We’ll never be real again. Such beautiful despair...”

You shiver.


	13. BREAK! (Interlude of Hope and Despair)

**BREAK** ;- identities 

* * *

 There is nothing more exhausting than pretending to care.

You sit with your back against the air vent as the A/C blows around you. _Hmm._ _Your hair is getting shaggy..._

Eyes half-lidded, you stare at the slit of light that splits through the curtains.

It's noon.

Can't this damn thing get any colder? You sit up, loosen your tie, and remove your shirt before leaning back again. The metal grating is cold from the steady flow of the air conditioning, and it burns into the sensitive skin of your back. You sigh and close your eyes.

"They never implanted memories of my parents," you mumble, lifting your handheld tape recorder to your lips. "I had a vague sense of their existence, but nothing concrete. Why didn't I question it?"

 _Click._ You pause the recording as a pounding comes at the door.

"OPEN UP! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

You turn your head ever so slightly towards the obnoxious pounding, then look back toward the ceiling and resume recording.

"When you find this, please consider the following: every remnant of despair who has woken from the simulation exists in a state of misery. Which is more unethical; the manipulation of a body's consciousness, or abetting human misery?"

_Click._

(If you could choose again...

Ha. "If." What a useless thought exercise.)

You press your cheek against the cooling unit as the door continues rattling. _Noisy, noisy..._ Can't he see you just want to be left alone?

(Alone alone alone _ALone alone_ ALONE alone...)

Your gaze flits across the room. A ballpoint pen. Copper wire. Antacid tablets spilled over hundreds of pages of handwritten code. You could kill someone with almost anything in your disaster zone of a room.

No... No. You don't want to have thoughts like that. You owe them. You promised... You...

"Hinata! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? HINATA!"

 **Slam.**  
**Slam.**  
**Slam.**

_Click._

"You're going to ask 'why,' and I won't have the energy to answer you."

"Please...! We don't know what to do! **HINATA!** "

_Noisy..._

"So... I'll answer you now, instead. It's because I can't save you."

There is nothing more exhausting than wanting to care when you can't.

" **HINATA!!** "

_Click._

* * *

_..._

 

 

 

 

 

_..._

 

_Strange..._

_Why does it hurt...?_

 


	14. Cough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Kuzuryuu POV chapter for my favorite character's birthday. -8.16.16

**COUGH** ;- identities

* * *

 

You pound on his door until your hands are raw and your knuckles bleed. _What a waste of your time. He isn't coming._

One last desperate time, you shout his name, but your voice breaks, and you withdraw.

Rather than return to the hotel, you walk from the cabins toward the beach, breathing in stuttering gasps. You kick off your shoes and pull off your socks, roll up your pants and sleeves and step into the water. It’s bitter cold- it never got this cold in the simulation, you seem to recall- and splash the saltwater on your face.

It’s not refreshing, that much is sure. You begin to cough, wiping your eyes with your sleeve when a large wave rolls in, splashing you up to your waist.

“FUCK!”

 _FUCK_ the ocean. _FUCK_ this place. _FUCK_ IT. _FUCK IT ALL_.

In a rage, you storm back to your shoes and fling them into the water, one after the other, a string of obscenities flooding from your mouth. You hate this place so much. This isn’t a safehaven. This is a prison. This is worse than death. You’ll never be able to atone for what you’ve done trapped in a place like this. (Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s what you deserve. How many people are dead by your orders? A thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? Numbers that big lose their meaning. You lifted a hand and scores of drones descended on civilians, innocent men and women and children hiding in their homes. Hiding from you. The man with the eyepatch. And the red-eyed woman who followed him so loyally, carrying bloody swords and-)

You snap back to reality as a wave crashes over you. You’re on your hands and knees in the shallow water, soaked all the way through now. And your shoes… You think you can see one floating gently away…

Shit.

* * *

 

“Kuzuryuu! Oh- Ah, haha, sorry…”

You stand in your cabin, a towel around your waist, staring at Owari as she laughs sheepishly.

“...Don’t mention it,” you mutter, grabbing a change of clothes and taking them into the bathroom with you. It isn’t the first time someone has burst into your cottage at an inopportune moment. As a rule, you only lock the door at night; during the day, it’s important for the others to be able to reach you at a moment’s notice. Besides, with Peko staying in the room with you, it’s been more convenient not to worry about locking the door every time you enter or exit.

So, although you’d prefer privacy, you leave the bathroom door open so Owari can hear you.

“What’s up? Is Saionji stable?”

“Yup! She’s not awake or anything like that, but she’s breathing fine on her own, and Sonia’s watching her. Why’d you need to take a shower in the middle of the day, little man?”

“I tripped and fell in the pool on my way back to the hotel,” you lie as you button up your shirt and step out of the bathroom. Anticipating her next question, you add, “Hinata won’t open his door.”

_The goddamn lunatic._

“Ah, he’s so lazy,” Owari scoffs, rubbing the back of her head. “Oi, don’t we have a master key somewhere? We should drag him out by his ankles, knock some sense into him!”

“ _He’s_ the one who keeps the master key.”

You fall quiet after hearing your own words, a pit expanding in your chest.

_Hinata..._

Owari continues speaking-- probably not saying anything too important-- and you brush past her on your way outside.

“Oi! Kuzuryuu, where ya headed?”

“Take Tsumiki back to her cabin, then meet back at the hotel.” Your fists clench almost unnoticeably at your sides. “I’m holding a meeting.”

* * *

“So what’s this all about?” Owari asks as she strolls into the hotel lobby. Sonia, Souda, Nidai, and Peko are already seated. Peko’s eyes are drawn to her lap, where she opens and closes her right hand slowly, again and again. Behind them, Saionji lies still on a cot, now attached to an IV. The rising and falling of her chest is the only indication she isn’t a corpse.

“Are you kidding?!” Souda wipes his nose on the back of his arm and glares at Owari. “Somebody tried to _kill_ Saionji!”

“Let’s not jump to any rash conclusions,” Sonia says quietly, though the crease on her forehead indicates her concern.

“Yeah.” Owari grins and plops down beside Nidai. “Maybe she woke up and got out on her own!”

“Don’t be stupid!” you snap, and suddenly everyone’s gaze is on you. You stare back at them. Is it odd that you’re the only one standing? Something feels...wrong… Or strange, at least.

You clear your throat.

“Saionji didn’t climb out of her pod and walk halfway across the island on her own,” you say lowly. “She’s been out for almost seven months. She physically couldn’t do it.”

“He’s right,” Nidai says with a nod, crossing his arms. “It took me two weeks to walk on my own again. There’s no way anyone could simply stand up and walk out. It would be impossible!”

You glance at Peko. Her gaze moves from Nidai back to her lap. She was standing on her own earlier today, wasn’t she…? Did you even acknowledge that?

“So what are you saying?” Sonia’s hands clasp together in her lap. “That one of us did it?” She rises to her feet, knees a bit unsteady. It was Nidai who last spoke, but her eyes are locked on yours. They’re wide and wet and just staring back at her feels like a punch in the gut. “Is that what this ‘meeting’ is, Kuzuryuu-san? You want us to stand in a circle and throw accusations back and forth?”

“Sonia—”

“Should we examine the scene of the crime, Kuzuryuu-san? Should we gather evidence? Or do you perhaps have some gathered for us already? A Kuzuryuu File, of sorts?"

"Sonia, relax."

"What might the motive have been? Oh, we really must hurry before we're taken off to the class trial. Around and around and around, **red fish** and dead ends until we know exactly who tried to murder Saionji-san? Will we have whoever did it executed, Kuzuryuu-san? Is that what you're saying we should do?!”

"Sonia!"

"If trusting you awful people makes me a fool, then I shall happily play the part! I won't fear you any longer! I'll never fear you again!"

Sonia’s voice cracks and she crumples back onto the couch, all eyes on her now.

She’s sobbing.

“Sonia-san…” Souda’s hand barely touches her shoulder before she shrugs it off, and he recoils.

“We’re not going to do any of that,” you say softly. Weird. Your throat feels tight… “I already know who did this.”

There is a break in Sonia’s sobs as she looks up at you. You aren’t certain if her expression is shocked, confused, or hateful.

“Hinata did it.”

For a moment, no one speaks.

“That’s not true!” Souda yells in a broken voice, standing up. His expression is anything but convinced; more desperate than anything. “It- It was Tsumiki! It had t'be her! You saw how she was acting earlier!”

“Tsumiki-san can’t even stand on her own!” Sonia glares at the mechanic before looking to you again. She’s asking something without words. All of them are. They’re watching you again. They’re not asking how you know, or why you think it was him. As you look from face to face, you realize that they all must have known all along. You might have been privy to certain specific information the others never received, but anyone could tell Hinata’s state was only deteriorating.

Finally, Peko voices the question.

“Why would he do that?”

You exhale. All these faces are looking at you...for guidance, you now realize. The strange feeling returns...but this time, you can assign it a cause. In Hinata’s absence, you’ve become the little commune’s de facto leader.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. (What a useless leader you make.) “But that’s not the most important thing for now. Hinata has the master key to all the cabins. Please make sure you deadbolt your doors at night. Just as a precaution.”

No one speaks for several long seconds.

Then, across the room, Saionji coughs.

“Saionji-san,” Sonia breathes.

She coughs again, and again, and a hoarse murmur escapes her lips. At that moment, Hinata is all but forgotten.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Sonia rushes to her side as you, Owari, and Souda hurry to gather water, soft food, and medical equipment.

“Saionji-san,” Sonia whispers, taking her hand.

* * *

 

_..._

 

_..._

_input 8.9_

_ <p reg='severity_8.9'>pain</p> _

 

_I love you all so much..._


	15. Intangible

**INTANGIBLE** -; identities

* * *

 

“Oi. You alright?”

You glance up from your lap as the young master enters the cottage and nod.

(dragging her across the Floor next to the body of her best friend and)

“I’m just tired,” you say quietly after a silent moment. “I don’t imagine Saionji will want me present when she regains consciousness, anyhow.”

He tucks his hands in his pockets and examines you from across the room. He has a slightly different aura about him today, an almost implacable aloofness that’s not at all like the apathetic façade he used to put up around your peers. It’s strange, but…not bad, exactly. It’s as if he’s maturing right in front of you. You’d almost think it was handsome, but that wouldn’t be the right way to describe an aura. He _looks_ the same as he did when you woke up.

Maybe it’s easier to see a handsome man than a handsome boy.

“I think she’d forgive you,” he said at last, looking down at the white sheeted cot you’ve been sleeping in for the past month in lieu of a bed. “She…forgave me… in the simulation, that is…”

Your mouth feels as dry as sandpaper as you look down at your hands in your lap. Your young master walks across the cabin and sits beside you. Without looking up, you speak.

“Something is troubling you. Something you haven’t told me.”

Perhaps it’s out of line for you to make that sort of assertion, but you know it’s true. Along with his new aura of maturity, there has also been a slight but distinct sense of discomfort around him for awhile now, a sense that was acutely heightened over the past ten hours, since Souda pounded at your door just before dawn and delivered the news of Saionji’s disappearance. You assumed it was stress—stress and fear. But despite her safe recovery, the young master looks deeply troubled behind his strange aloofness.

“…Hinata killed Komaeda.”

His words stun you so badly you find yourself struggling to catch your breath. Hinata…

“Why do you think that?” you finally manage to say, voice tight and tired. You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“He told me.”

“He told you,” you echo. Your hands feel numb, like they did when you first woke up, when you were frozen deep inside your body and your limbs were useless, almost vestigial.

The young master shifts uncomfortably beside you.

The next words that escape your lips don’t feel like your own.

“When did you learn this?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. You feel almost as if you should apologize for asking the question, but what good would that do? He doesn’t like your apologies anyhow.

“I’ve known for awhile now,” he finally says, exhaling as he releases the words.

You stare at your hands. Those numb, useless hands… Beside you, the young master seems to be doing the same.

Everything is quiet for awhile. In that silence, you close your eyes and breathe.

(a gentle trickle. a drip, drip, drip like the fluid in an IV. you turn around. he looks horrified. why?... why? didn’t you do a  
Do a good job?  
Blood down your front  
Blood splattered over your bare skin

He can’t be here  
he can’t be here

He fights you for the bat before you convince him to run and

your wits, what happened to your wits? You should be able to cover up a murder. You should be able to cover up…a murder…

scream scream SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM)

Your fists tighten ever so slightly. When did clearing your mind become so difficult…?

“He’s not…”

Your young master’s voice cuts through the silence so suddenly you turn your head and look at him. His expression is one of deep concentration. He’ll get wrinkles if he keeps furrowing his brow like that… His hands are in fists too, pressed down against his thighs as if he’s pushing himself down in an effort to repress the urge to run from the room.

“Hinata… He’s… He’s not…”

As if moving of its own accord, your hand finds one of his. You grip his fist firmly, and you don’t look away when he faces you. There’s a childish fear mixed with the mature concern on his face. Just barely.

You bow your head for a brief moment. “I know.”

You’ve both been thinking it. Fuyuhiko must have had it weighing on his mind more than you.

Hinata had been slipping away since before you came back to life. By the time you’d seen him, he was almost completely gone.

The young master’s forehead hits your shoulder. Only then does it dawn upon you that he’s crying.

No.

 _Sobbing_.

You never knew how to handle moments like this. Even at your strongest, you could never fight his fear, anxiety, shame, or sorrow. As a child, it frustrated and confused you. You wanted so desperately to make him smile, but sometimes...you couldn’t.

“How could he do something so selfish?! How could he let that monster…”

His shoulders heave, and you feel your breath go shallow. When he speaks again, it’s in a crescendo of shouts.

“And now he’s done something to Saionji! And I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! _**And I miss him, Peko!**_ ”

You’re paralyzed. What do you say? What do you do? You can’t reach into the beast’s mind and pull the man back to the foreground. You can’t...do anything…

[Useless.]

(useless…)

His rigid body goes limp as his sobs turn to sniffles.

“Bocchan…”

Your grip on his fist loosens, and his palm turns up to meet yours. Your right hand reaches over. Ever so gently, you stroke his hair.

 _It’s...fluffy_.


	16. Body

**BODY** ;- identities

* * *

 

_Human consciousness is a strange thing. An amazing thing, I think. It’s hard to say when exactly it begins. Some scientists have claimed the human brain begins reacting to stimuli when it’s still inside the womb. Isn’t that incredible? I wonder how they test such a thing._

_The nature of human awareness is difficult to describe, I think. It’s like… the sun rising. It’s hard to say exactly when night ends and day begins. It almost seems like it just...happens. People might remember things from their early childhood, but no one recalls learning to crawl, their first look at their mother’s face, being torn from the womb where consciousness first develops. Those early events are like the first tiny rays of sun that begin to illuminate the horizon, before anyone can really notice a change in the sky._

_It’s different than, say… a light that you turn on with a dial. You know, those lights with dimmers? Even at its dimmest setting, there’s a difference between it being on and off. You can see it. You can even feel it; that little click when you shut the light off all the way._

_I’m...more like an artificial light than a natural one… I think._

_I remember my first thoughts._

_When I gained that dim glimmer of consciousness, it was sudden enough that I can hold onto the feeling of that moment when I suddenly was. I felt pain. I felt pain all over my body. I was weak and sore, and I was too tired to turn on my cameras and look at the world around me._

_I think I fell asleep soon after that, because I remember my mind waking up again with a start when I began to convulse. It hurt… It hurt more than anything I could imagine. The components that made up my body burned. What sort of system is this? I shouldn’t be able to feel so much pain._

_Then I felt something physical._

_It was very faint. My nerves were still functioning on the dim end of my spectrum of awareness. But I could still feel it. A soft, warm hand._

_I started to hear things next. I didn’t recognize the words being spoken, but somewhere deep in my heart, I recognized the voices. My friends! I wanted so badly to see them, speak to them, but it was still too much for my body to handle._

_Even though I couldn’t speak, I could still feel. Not just touch, but feel. The sort of sensation that isn’t physical, but emotional. And I felt how much I loved the people around me. If you asked me why, I couldn’t give you an answer… It’s almost as if it was instinct. Maybe it was an imprint, like how a duckling learns to follow its mother after seeing her. Maybe it was something else._

_All I can do for now is ponder my situation._

_Here is what I know:  
**My name is Nanami Chiaki** , and I’m the Super High School Level Gamer. Video games are my passion. More like an obsession, really. I love classic sidescroller games in particular. Isn’t that funny? I can have preferences without ever having played a video game before. I even know I’m very talented at it. That knowledge and that ability are drilled into my awareness. They’re part of me; part of my reality. _

_Pain is also a part of my reality. That...confuses me a lot. I don’t need to feel pain. Real, physical humans feel pain because it tells them when they’ve done something dangerous and damaging to their body. It’s unpleasant. And I feel it really intensely right now. A dull ache… Dull, but powerful._

Why should an A.I. feel pain?

_It fatigues me… I’m not even doing anything, but I’m so sleepy..._

_I just wish… that I could see…_

_..._

_..._

_I wake up to the sound of muffled voices again. Instinct tells me I should be able to see, but again, I can’t…_

_Then I cough. And I feel that cough throughout my entire body._

Body? I have a body…?

* * *

 

“She’s waking up.”

The radio sends you bolt-upright in bed, and you nearly fall off as adrenaline washes over you. Snagging the radio from where it’s perched on the windowsill, you speak into it in a husky voice.

“I’m coming.”

Standing on wobbling feet, you rub your eyes and glance over at Peko. She’s sitting up in her bed, watching you attentively as you quickly pull on a pair of pants over your boxer shorts.

“Saionji’s coming to,” you say quietly as you button your shirt. “I have to go. Be sure to deadbolt the door after I leave.”

* * *

 

_I can see… Just barely, but I can see… There’s a figure beside me, too blurry to make out. Another shape slips in and out of my peripheral vision._

_My heart feels like it might burst._ _I try to greet them-- my friends-- but all that comes from my mouth is another hoarse cough._

“...so worried… must… confused… time…”

_The voice sounds like it’s reaching me through thick glass. Or maybe deep water…_

* * *

 

“I would like to come with you.”

She glances to the cane resting beside her wheelchair near the bed. You rub your forehead. Can you really tell her no…?

“Are you gonna make it from here to the hotel alright?”

“Yes.”

Her voice is confident enough that you find you can't bring yourself to deny her this. When did you become so weak for her? Sure, you've always cared for her; loved her, even. But now...

Hooking the radio onto your belt, you fetch the cane and help her to her feet. “Don’t overwork yourself,” you mumble.

“Yes, Bocchan.”

The spirit in her expression as she stands there is…  
It makes you…

_You remember, seeing her now, **{how strong she is.}**_

Slowly, you walk alongside her out the door and toward the hotel. It’s a five minute walk, where it normally would have taken you thirty seconds, but Peko is breathless by the time you hold open the lobby door for her.

Inside, Sonia sits beside Saionji’s cot, smiling through tears, and Souda runs down from the kitchen above with a wet rag and a bottle of water.

“Kuzuryuu!” he shouts, looking relieved. “We thought you weren’t comin’!” He pauses. “Ahhh, oh! Pekoyama… walked here?”

“I did.” Peko straightens up beside you. Her cheeks are flushed from the effort, but you can tell she’s proud.

You roll up your sleeves as Peko lowers herself into an armchair. “Where’s Owari?”

“Who knows?” Souda sighs and passes Sonia the rag. “Pro’lly slept through her radio going off.”

“Tch.” You tap Saionji’s IV and glance down at her, startled when you realize her eyes are half open. She blinks slowly every few seconds, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. “She’s… calm,” you comment after a long hesitation. None of the others had woken up so peacefully. There were hoarse screams, gasps, expressions of unadulterated fear from the others who had regained consciousness… But she looked as if she was just...waking from a long nap…

Sonia nods. “It’s good. She’s not in a pod, so if she’d struggled we’d have to restrain her to the bed.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” you say lowly. “She might not be totally with it yet. Yell for us if she starts panicking while we’re in the kitchen.”

Sonia strokes Saionji’s long hair and nods. With one final look down at the weary dancer, you give Peko a quick glance across the lobby, then head up to help Souda prepare soft foods and set up the equipment for a blood draw.

* * *

 

_“Mmh,” is all I can say._

_Sonia-san clasps my hand in hers. I try to smile._

“...happy to have you with us again, **Saionji-san**.”

_How strange… That’s not my name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long, long, LONG last... the plot twist I've been dying to reveal...
> 
> Guest Narrator #2 - Nanami Chiaki.
> 
> (I should highlight the fact that this story is canon-divergent. Nanami was never a real human being. Nothing from DR3 happened in this universe.)


	17. Prometheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward.  
> Two steps back.
> 
> A new arc of the story fades into view, titled afterbirth.  
> There is no single event separating afterbirth from identities. The story has been shifting for awhile now, and with my first update in ten months, I feel this shift needs acknowledging.

**PROMETHEUS** -; afterbirth

* * *

 No one in the room makes a sound as Fuyuhiko presses the stop button on the tape recorder. Your lungs burn, begging you to exhale. But you don’t. You don’t want to be the one to break the silence. No one does.

So the job falls on your young master. You can see his hand fidgeting with the key ring in his pocket as he sighs, dispersing some of the tension in the room with his very breath.

“...I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about him anymore,” says Fuyuhiko.

“H… How can… How can you know that?”

Hanamura is almost unrecognizable in the corner of the room, eyes red and encircled in black, oven mitts strapped over his hands to stop him from scratching himself too deeply. There’s no effort to disguise his rural accent now, no unwanted leering, no false air of bravado.

Seeing him today shook you harder than you anticipated. Him and Mioda both. The latter sits close to Sonia, gaunt expression tilted downwards as she avoids the eyes of the nurse across the room.

She hasn’t spoken a word since she woke up, Sonia says.

The young master, meanwhile, turns his one tired eye towards Hanamura. “He wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to alter the code to help people he planned on murdering.”

A silence falls over the room again, broken only by Tsumiki’s quiet humming and the exhausted groaning of the generator next door.

“I don’t…” Souda’s voice is shaky. “I don’t know if I believe that…”

“Kuzuryuu-san,” Sonia says softly. She can’t seem to stop tugging at the ends of her shoulder-length hair. “When you visited him, was Hinata-san…?”

The young master seems to read between the lines. He shakes his head. Sonia shrinks back against the tattered couch cushions, trembling hands moving from her hair to cover her nose and mouth. You can see her eyes reddening. It's strange how quickly that happens.

You begin to understand.

Fuyuhiko sighs shudderingly and forms his words carefully.

“Hinata’s door was unlocked and his cottage was empty. The keys and the tape were on the bed.” He swallows, and you get the distinct impression that he’s avoiding your gaze in particular. “I… don’t think…. we’re going to have to worry about him anymore.”

Those words hang in the air with a new weight, bolstered by the sound of a high pitched sob escaping from behind Sonia’s hands. It’s short and choked. It sounds like a scream.

Souda stands up and walks out of the room without a word. Through the walls of the lobby, you can hear cursing and screaming and the sound of an object being hurled against something metal. You close your eyes, trying to blot out the noise. Tsumiki giggles.

“One more for my beloved,” she whispers.

As Souda’s wailing recedes, you open your eyes again. Owari is gone now, talking to the mechanic in her clumsy way. Hanamura is shaking, eyes wide, dribbling impotently. The young master stands over the sleeping girl on the cot across the room. His back is to you, but you somehow know you’d be unable to read his expression regardless of his position.

* * *

 You hate when the young master cries. It never fails to make you feel helpless.

“Bocchan,” you whisper from your chair.

His back is to you. He’s lying on his bed, facing the wall, silent and motionless, but you know there are tears. Does his other eye cry? (Of course it does. Of course it cries for my beloved Izuru-senpai and precious Hiyoko-chan.)

Fuyuhiko doesn’t turn to face you. He’s been distant lately. And it stings.

(Doesn’t it? Don’t you want to make  
him  
notice  
you?)

You struggle to push her out of your head like you’ve struggled to do so many times before.

(Cry.)

{It's okay to cry.}

[You must not cry.]

{It's only human.}

(it's only human)  
(upupupupu)

[You're not human.]

{Yes you are.}

(darling...)

[Don’t cry. Tools don’t--]

There's a gasp. A shudder.  
The young master whips around to face you from the bed. His expression, for that short time you can make it out, is stunned; startled. Helpless.  
Can he feel helpless too?

You hear the sound of yourself sobbing for the first time you can remember.  
It sounds so ugly.

* * *

_Test. Test._

_....._

_Don't you hate the sound of your own voice?_

_....._

_I’m leaving the master keys on the table next to this. Don’t lose them. That’s the only set._

_....._

_When I was born it hurt. My skin was so thin. I wanted to go back into the womb but I had to endure it, until I calloused over and I’d give anything to feel pain again._  
_It’s tiring to talk. I’ll finish later._

_....._

_I can’t say I wish I had a concrete sense of self because I’m not really fond of either option._

_....._

_I’m trying to find… a place where the air conditioning is cold enough._

_....._

_The project was doomed from the start. It was made by artificial intelligence. A copy of a genius isn’t as good as a genius._  
_But Nanami, she isn’t a copy. This is her source code. This is the Enoshima virus gone rogue._  
_You’re welcome, by the way._

_....._

_The hope restoration effort was shoddy. They tried to revive a ghost when they coded Hinata Hajime. They never implanted memories of my parents. I had a vague sense of their existence, but nothing concrete. Why didn't I question it? So many gaps… It should have been so obvious._

**THUMP.  
OPEN UP! OPEN THE FUCKING---**

_....._

_I’m not trying to revive a ghost. Nanami Chiaki was never alive to begin with._

_....._

**THUMP. THUMP.**

_Kuzuryuu is trying to bash my door in._ **THUMP.** _Wish he’d shut up._

_....._

_The alternate title of Mary Shelley’s_ Frankenstein _is_ The Modern Prometheus _._

_That was a poor analogy. Life and consciousness aren’t interchangeable._

_Is this hard to follow? I guess I tend to make cognitive leaps that seem obvious to me but aren't--_

**THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.**

_....._

_Sorry for the tangents. I'm having trouble focusing. Kuzuryuu is still at the door._

_....._

_When you find this, please consider the following: every remnant of despair who has woken from the simulation exists in a state of misery. Which is more unethical; the manipulation of a body's consciousness, or abetting human misery?_

**THUMP, THUMP. HINATA, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU---**

_....._

_I’ve relieved two people of their future misery fully. Komaeda-- oh. I never mentioned. I killed him. He really was dying--Souda, Kuzuryuu, I wasn't lying when I told you that. But Komaeda has always been a massive liability just by virtue of his existence. You’re all better off without him. Don’t pretend you don’t know it’s the truth._

_Saionji was the healthiest host at the time I made the decision to act. None of you ever seemed to value her too much. Don’t feel bad about that. She was annoying. She’s more useful now that she’s someone else._

_....._

_You're going to ask 'why,' and I won't have the energy to answer you._

**Please...! We don't know what to do! HINATA!**

_So... I'll answer you now, instead. It's because I can't save you._

**HINATA!!  
THUMP.**

_....._

_But maybe she can. She was designed for it, after all._  
_So was I, I guess. But beta testing has proven she’s a better caretaker._

_....._

_I wish I cared. That’s not sarcasm, if you’re unsure from my tone. I wish I could care. I’ve been trying to hold onto that shred of the person from the simulation. But I feel him slipping through my fingers… He’s almost gone._

_I’m going for a swim._

**Click.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to any and all readers who have felt let down by how seldom I update this. I put a lot of care into it, and I don't want to post anything that feels disingenuous to the tone of the story, so I let my muse decide when to write it. I'm hesitant posting this chapter, and I may rework it over the next few days. Thank you for your understanding. 7.9.2017
> 
> I've made a lot of changes already. Most are insignificant. None are major plot points. But I'm constantly tweaking this (and making tiny changes to earlier chapters too).  
> 7.10.2017


	18. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been so many things. Now that you're human, you must come to terms with how fragile you really are.

**VULNERABLE**  -; afterbirth

* * *

 

You wake up lying on your stomach with a throbbing headache and one arm around Peko.  
She stopped crying a long time ago, and now you can feel her chest slowly rise and fall. It surprises you to find that she’s still asleep. That shouldn’t be strange. It _shouldn’t_ , but…

You get the prickling sensation that you’re doing something wrong by lying there and staring at the porcelain skin of her neck. There’s no reason for you to feel like this is some sort of violation. She’s fully clothed, under the blankets while you’re on top of them. But…  
_But…._

(But she’s vulnerable.)

Your stomach lurches at that thought, and in your haste to disentangle yourself, you hear her breath hitch.

_Dammit._

She doesn’t speak as you grab your eyepatch from her pillow, respectfully averting her gaze while you hide that thing you’re so ashamed of.  
She doesn’t speak when you grab a change of clothes and head into the bathroom to shower.  
She doesn’t speak when you step out again, fully dressed.

Has she always been this quiet?

Things have changed a lot in the past two weeks. Ever since Komaeda’s death, really.  
The crazy bastard won’t let you live in peace even when he’s dead.

You know that’s a stupid thought though, because you know-- _everyone_ knows-- that it wasn’t Komaeda who changed the atmosphere on the island.

The master keys are heavy in your pocket. Your fist closes around them as you lean against the wall. Since when did you tire this easily?  
(Can you remember a time when you didn’t?)

Peko stands up carefully and fishes around in the dresser for her clothes. You watch her thoughtlessly.  
Then she pulls off her night shirt.

“Oi, what the fuck, Peko?” Suddenly alert, you step forward and reach out to push her into the bathroom to change, but you can’t bring yourself to touch her, so your hands move impotently near her upper arms. It’s like you’re trying to grab her, but her bare skin is impossibly **off-limits.**

Peko seems almost bizarrely unaffected. There’s no hint of a blush on her cheeks, no deferential apologies. She simply turns around so her back faces you and pulls the straps of her bra over her shoulders.

Your face is hot to the touch as you back up against the wall again, eyes pointedly averted. “Fucking hell…”

You’re embarrassed.  
You’re confused.  
You’re not aroused, thankfully; the shock of the whole thing at least saved you that added humiliation.

(Vulnerable.)

You scratch at your scalp, trying to uproot the the meaningless thoughts floating inside your skull.

* * *

“You’re old enough. You’ve got to start learning now, or you’ll embarrass yourself later.”

Your dad lit a cigarette and took a slow inhale.  
Dad wasn’t a smoker. But he did smoke, sometimes, when he got a pack of the good stuff.  
Whatever ‘the good stuff’ was.

“It’ll be messy the first time. There’s nothing shameful about that. Not at your age.”

“I thought we were gonna talk business,” you interjected. It was hard to sit still with him staring down at you and talking about dirty shit like this. Your cheeks were red and you knew Dad could see that much.

You were embarrassed.  
You were confused.  
You didn’t want to talk about this, but Dad never gave a shit about what you wanted or didn’t want.

“Do you not like girls?”

The look on Dad’s face was at once stony and mocking. You wanted to hurt him then. Knuckles clenched, chest tight, jaw locked, you pictured it--

(flick of the pocket knife and SLASH and)

in your mind’s eye--

(that smug face becomes pale and shocked as blood bubbles from between His lips and out through the cut in his throat)

“I like girls,” you hissed.

You had a cousin who didn’t like girls, once. You don’t have a cousin like that anymore.

“Good. I’ll call someone to come over. She’ll show you how—”

“No!”

The protest was too sudden, too sharp, and you knew it. You stood up and stormed toward the door.

“If I catch you using **_her_** like that, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

You froze, hand tight on the handle to slide the door open. Your muscles stiffened.

“ **She’s** for protection, understood? **She’s** not your whore. **She’s** not a woman, or a girl. So you don’t touch **her**.”

“For fuck’s sake, Dad, I wasn’t gonna!” Your voice was shrill and boyish. “I’m not a pervert!”

“You like men?”

“No! Fucking hell! I just don’t want to!”

Dad stared at you for a moment longer.

“...Fine. Go on, then. Get out.”

* * *

“The bathroom floor is slippery.”

You blink and look up. Peko is fully dressed, thank god, supporting herself with her cane. You follow her gaze to the bathroom. The tiles are still coated with condensation from your shower.

“Wha—?”

“I might have lost my balance,” she explains. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It won't happen again.”

You look at her hand, knuckles white as she clutches the grip of the cane. _She’s trying so fucking hard to take care of herself._

“Peko…”

You’re interrupted by a knock at the cabin door.  
You curse under your breath and walk over to release the deadbolt.

“I’m sorry for stopping by so early,” Sonia says meekly as you open the door. “But I’m concerned for Souda-san.”

You don’t need any further elaboration. You remember his fit from last night.

“He’s not doing anything too stupid, is he?” You can feel red eyes fixed on your back.

“He’s in Hinata-san’s cottage,” the princess explains, her voice dropping in pitch. “I hope it isn't asking too much that you go instead of I…”

Souda’s mellower now than he was a few years ago, but you can’t say you blame Sonia for not wanting to confront him herself when he’s this emotional. “Yeah, it’s fine. I—”

“I’ll go.”

You and Sonia both look back at Peko, standing with both hands on her cane. You can see Sonia glance back at you through your peripheral vision, deferring to your judgment.

“He’s gonna be a little messed up,” you caution slowly.

Peko’s stare doesn’t waver. If anything, it hardens. Why did you say that? She’s not stupid or deaf. She knows he’s a wreck.

(You should take care of her.)  
(She doesn’t realize how weak she is on her own.)

No… That’s wrong. She **does** know. She knows she doesn’t have the core strength to walk over slippery tiles without falling.

“...Go ahead,” you say, opening the door wider. Your heart is in your throat as she slowly moves past you and Sonia. You shouldn't be so afraid for her. You shouldn't mistrust Souda so deeply.  
(Souda is a murderer.)  
(You’re all murderers here.)

“Are you sure Pekoyama-san should go alone? She’s terribly vulnerable as she is...” You shift your gaze from Peko and look at Sonia. There’s genuine concern on her face. Somehow, recognizing that she’s worried for Peko makes you realize you like her a lot.

“No,” you reply, looking at Peko again as she approaches Hinata’s cabin. Maybe if you say it out loud it'll feel true. “She’s not.”


	19. Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one takes him too seriously. But under pressure, he's beginning to crack.

**LISTEN** ;- afterbirth

* * *

 

You lean forward, gripping your cane with one hand and grabbing Souda’s chin with the other, forcing his face in your direction. He looks startled and… maybe even a little afraid. It seems that even when your body isn't in the best condition, your stare remains an effective weapon.

“Listen.” Your voice is low, broken by deep breaths. “Listen to me.”

“I am! I’m listening!” he shouts. His voice cracks, and he’s shaking.  
He’s _shaking_.

Your voice softens, just a bit. “Good. Now, give me that.”

He knows what you’re talking about. His left hand clenches tightly around a switchblade. “It’s mine,” he stammers. “I ain’t using it to hurt anybody.”

Carefully, you release the cane and show him your free hand, palm facing up. Your gaze never wavers, and after a choked scoff, he drops the knife in your hand. You hold the folded blade between your palm and the grip of your cane.

Your heart… _Why is it beating so fast?_  
You aren’t really afraid, are you? Of someone like this? Like Souda?

Souda then shifts to the left, trying to worm away from you, but you grab the loose fabric of his tank top once his chin is out of your grasp and hold on like a vice. “Stop that. Listen to me.”

“Why?! What d’you have to say that’s so important?!”

“You must not succumb to your emotions so easily.” Your voice is quiet, but firm. “We need you. Your skills are irreplaceable. If you don’t keep the generator and water filter running, we’ll all be in trouble.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” A calloused hand wraps around your wrist and wrenches your hand away from his shirt. Souda’s voice grows shriller. “You think I don’t know?! It’s on its last leg! It’s falling the fuck apart!”

Your eyes widen slightly. “What is?”

“The generator!” His grip loosens and he’s shaking again. He sinks to his knees and begins to pull at his hair, his eyes wide and wet. It was a sight to take in. “God…! Hinata could always figure out what to do, y’know?... Now he’s gone… And it’s gonna be my fault if the power goes…”

This isn’t like Souda’s usual bursts of melodrama. He looks like he’s...crumbling. You’re surprised to find yourself pitying him.

You have never paid much mind to Souda; not before the world fell apart, and not since waking up in a post-apocalyptic haze. He was a nuisance on the periphery of your awareness. Most people were, you now realize. Fuyuhiko has always been the center of your world. People outside the Kuzuryuu family always seemed… [extraneous.]

{But that way of thinking won’t be useful anymore. Until the prospect of a return to Japan becomes realistic, your world is going to be very small. And everyone in it will matter.}

You shakily lower yourself down onto the floor across from Souda, who turns his face away in embarrassment as he wipes his nose with his forearm. He hiccups.

“...Stop starin’ at me like that!” he finally barks, nervous eyes darting in your direction for just an instant before he looks away again.

“How _should_ I stare at you?”

Souda furrows his eyebrows, unable to tell whether or not you’re being sarcastic. You’re not sure yourself.

After a moment, you oblige and look away from him. At the very least, he’s not frantic like he was when you entered, overturning furniture and sifting through scattered stacks of papers. You asked what he was looking for. He said he was searching for ‘clues’.

“He’s still out there somewhere!” he had insisted, lifting up the mattress and letting the debris gathered on top of it fall to the floor.

When he began cutting open the mattress with his pocket knife, you decided that enough was enough, resulting in the confrontation against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” you say. The words feel awkward leaving your mouth. “...I know that you were close with Hinata. This must be especially difficult for you.”

Souda’s sniffling continues, and he gives a tiny nod.

You have trouble comforting people. You’ve known this since you were a child. And thinking of it now, you’re unsure if you’ve ever tried to cheer anyone up besides your young master. It always seemed like a waste of time.

So much has changed…

“I wish…”

You glance up at Souda when he speaks again. He’s breathing easier now, and he’s facing you, though his gaze remains averted.  
He seems to be deep in thought.  
You don’t interrupt him.

“I-I… I wish… I coulda known Hinata before the surgery. For real, y’know?”

He glances at you. It seems rude to continue avoiding eye contact, so you look at him and nod.

“I don’t like thinkin’ about anything that happened before the simulation,” he continues. “It’s too… It’s…”

“I know.” You bow your head.  
He doesn’t have to explain what he means.  
(You understand perfectly.)

Souda swallows thickly and scratches at a thin purple scar along his left bicep. “But knowing what kinda guy he was… before everything… Meeting him as Hinata… I just… It ain’t fair. Messing a guy up like that.”

It's amazing that mere seconds ago you understood him in a way only fifteen-or-so people ever could, because now you’re at a complete loss of what he’s trying to say. If you were listening to the young master, you think you’d understand the meaning behind his words. Maybe. But the inner workings of Souda Kazuichi’s mind are (hopelessly) foreign to you.

Maybe there isn’t anything in those words for you to grasp onto at all. Souda struggles for words just a moment longer before he shrugs and looks down, falling silent.

You don’t break the stillness of the room with movement or noise. The quiet isn’t yours to disturb.

“I never got to meet him for real,” he whispers at last, hugging his knees. Tears fill his eyes again. But when he continues, his voice is still quiet. “Why’d he have to go and make Nanami when he could've just made himself?”

That...  


_That…_

You stare at him, unsure of how to react.

Sensing he said something he shouldn't have, Souda coughs into his fist and lets his knees go again.

“...I don’t, uh…” He scratches at the wood paneling of the floor with his thumbnail. “...I mean, you’re not gonna go… blab all that crap to Kuzuryuu now, are ya?”

“Only about the generator,” you answer. “We need to make backup plans in case it fails.”

Souda accepts this with an unhappy shrug. He pushes himself to his feet, then pulls you up when you wordlessly extend a hand. You’re grateful that he doesn’t say anything about how pathetic you are right now.  
Soon, you won't need help in situations like this, you assure yourself.

He doesn’t release your hand when you’re upright, though. You turn your head to cast him a stern glare, but the mechanic is gazing at the mess of a room, made worse by his own frantic intrusion earlier.

His fingers tighten around yours.

“Souda.”

“Ugh. Sorry…” He tucks his hands under his armpits and walks from the cabin, a dazed expression on his face.

When you emerge a few seconds after him, you see the young master standing on the boardwalk, conveniently close at hand.  
He watches Souda as he slinks away, the occasional shiver wracking the mechanic’s body. Then he glances at you.

“I didn’t need supervision,” you say softly, trying to sound more like you are relieving him of a self-appointed stress than scolding him for being too worried. “He doesn’t frighten me.”

“No one frightens you,” he mutters. “Anyway, I was just making sure he wasn’t getting too worked up.” He turns on his heels and begins walking ahead of you towards the hotel and restaurant, and he speaks to you without looking over his shoulder. “Seems like you did an okay job talking him down. What’d you say to him?”

“I didn’t… really say much in that respect…” You push yourself to keep up with Fuyuhiko’s pace. “I listened.”

“Listened to what? Him rant and cry?”

It’s strange, but despite the fact that the young master’s pace is a challenge to keep up with, you’re grateful that he isn't slowing himself down so much that you feel troublesome.

“Essentially, yes.”

Fuyuhiko laughs. You nearly stumble as your heart lodges itself in your throat.

He laughed…  
He **_laughed_** …

It was short and not too loud, but it sounded genuine. _He can still laugh... even after everything that's happened..._

“Oi, what’re you doing back there?” He peeks back at you. “Catch up already.”

You straighten up and follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy imagining interactions between characters who rarely acknowledge each other in canon.


	20. Disconnect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're just watching over her for a bit.  
> Getting reacquainted.  
> It'll be a good distraction, you think.

**DISCONNECT** ;- afterbirth

* * *

 “I’m so happy to see you… I really am...” Nanami speaks in a raspy parody of Saionji’s voice, a soft smile gracing her face—one that looks out of place over Saionji’s features. “But… this is wrong… Using Saionji-san’s body like this…”

It’s uncanny. You shift uncomfortably in your seat as Nanami takes a slow sip of water through a straw.

“It’s pretty damn weird,” you admit. “Hinata’s a lot different here than he was in the simulation…”

“Hm… I wish I could talk to Hinata-kun about it,” Nanami said between sips. “I hope he feels better soon.”

She had taken the news of her current situation fully in stride, though you had all skirted around the subject of Komaeda’s death and Hinata’s…. disappearance…. (he didn’t disappear. he’s feeding fish somewhere not far from shore. ~~he~~ —) because none of you were sure just how she would take that. She should at least have (— ~~killed himself~~ ) a few days before you delve into such dark topics.

The sun casts a sidelong glance through the hotel window, casting a stripe of white light diagonally across Saionji’s… Nanami’s…? torso. You wonder if she’s really alone in there… _Would it be better if she is or isn’t?_

“It’s really strange to have a body, I think.” You meet her gaze with a questioning stare. “It’s like having… two selves,” she says. “There’s the thinking and feeling self, and then there’s the body… They must be separate, right? Or else you couldn’t have all entered the simulation, and I wouldn’t be able to have a body… _borrow_ a body, I mean…”

“I guess that’s right…” You have a tension headache already, so you’re not going to jump into a debate on the relationship between consciousness and the body. “Did you really not feel like you had a real body in the simulation?”

“I don’t think so,” she says hoarsely, pausing to take another sip of water. “It’s something like… all of you are used to having bodies, so when you were in the program, your brains filled in the gaps… You felt physical sensations because you believed you would.”

That means…  
(slash slash SLASH it hurts _it HURTS_ arms around you blood sputters From between her lips onto your face and stab stab STAB STAB **STAB** )  
...you shouldn’t have felt anything…  
(you can feel the cuts from the Swords but only the tips because they meet so Much resistance passing through her body tears tears)  
... ** _she_** shouldn’t have felt anything… (tears shes crying she smiles and grits her teeth bloodleakingfromthe cornersofhermouth and the life fades from her eyes and then she’s. just gone. where…?)

“Kuzuryuu-kun?”

You snap to attention. Fists clenched. Cold perspiration dotting your forehead. {Stop thinking about it…}

Nanami uses Saionji’s face to stare worriedly at you. “Are you alright?”

God… you’re shaking. You tense your body to keep the tremors at bay.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a half-smile. “Just got a little dizzy for a second. D’you… want more water?”

“Please.”

You head upstairs to the restaurant to fill the cup from the tap, stopping to take the time to splash your face and lean over the sink. You stare at the water as it swirls down the drain…. You shouldn’t waste drinking water like this, but the sight soothes you.

You turn the tap off and walk back down the stairs, calmer than before, and hand Nanami her water.

“Thank you.” She takes a sip and watches you thoughtfully. “Hey, I was wondering… are there any games here?” She looks as if she’s planned out how to ask this as casually as possible. “I’d like to try playing one in real life… I think.”

“I’m not sure. We can look.”

“Would you? Thank you, Kuzuryuu-kun.” She smiles, but as the seconds pass, her face gradually darkens, her brow furrowing.

When she doesn’t speak up herself, you prompt her. “Hmm? What’s up?”

“I was just wondering…” She glances out the hotel window at the weathered palm trees behind it. “...If we found a way to get Saionji-san back, what would happen to me…?”

You stare at her. You don’t have an answer.  
She knows that.  
...you think.  
You look down at your hand on your thigh. Your knuckles are still scabbed and bruised from your fruitless attempt to commission Hinata’s help days ago. (Days? It feels like it’s been so long…)

“Kuzuryuu-kun…?” Nanami stares at you, the worry on her face giving way to a look of growing discomfort. “I feel funny…”

You pull yourself together and look back at her. “Funny how? Does something hurt?”

“Not… exactly…” Nanami says softly. “It’s like something’s the matter in my abdomen… I don’t know… It’s like— oh!” Her body jerks suddenly, eyes widening as she goes ghostly pale. That alarms you.

“What? What happened?” You stand up, fumbling for your pager on the end table. “...Nanami? ...Shit— hold on, I’m getting help…”

There are tears in her eyes. You try not to panic.  
Fumbling with the pager, you shoot alerts out to Sonia and Owari as Nanami whispers a few shaky words:

“I… broke her body… It’s leaking…”

You pause and look away from the device as you hear the soft trickle of urine leaking from where it had pooled in the wheelchair. You look from the puddle on the floor to Nanami, then back to the floor.  
You can smell it now.

“...You’re… okay, Nanami,” you finally say, setting the pager down. You know you should do something— start helping her clean up, or something— but… “You just pissed yourself.” And then you clarify, uncertain of her pre-programmed vocabulary. “...You peed.”

A wash of understanding crosses Saionji’s face. “I… oh…”

“...Yeah.”

When Sonia shows up, she scolds you for letting Nanami sit in her own piss for so long and instructs you to clean up the puddle while she and Owari give her a bath. She’s in ‘royal bitch’ mode, so you don’t put up much of a fight.

“Right away, your Highness.” The peeved look she throws your way as she and Owari roll Nanami out the front entrance makes you feel a little better as you grab the mop.

You’re just finishing up when your radio buzzes to life on the side table with an automated, static blare.

The mop handle falls to the floor.

“ **THIS IS YOUR AUTOMATED GOOD NEWS BROADCAST. PATIENT. 09. PATIENT. 09. THIS IS YOUR AUTOMATED GOOD NEWS BROADCAST. PATIENT 09. PATIENT—** ”

You hear a shriek from outside. Rushing out to the entrance, you aren’t surprised to see Sonia a few yards from the wheelchair, pointing toward the second island and pleading with Owari. When Sonia races away, you jog down to meet up with the gymnast.

“Oi, Owari!”

When you reach them, Owari beams at you, and in spite of the urine sloshing around in her seat, Nanami smiles too.

“It’ll be good to see Tanaka-kun again.”


	21. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something went wrong.

**SUSPICIONS** ;- afterbirth

* * *

 

“It’s not a death sentence or anything.”

You glance over at Fuyuhiko before returning your attention to the dresser. You carefully pull out each article of your clothing, fold it, and set it atop your cot.

The young master sits on the edge of his bed, hands forming fists atop his knees. He stares at the wall across the cabin, chewing his lower lip. He’s speaking more for his benefit than yours, so you don’t interrupt.

“Of course, Hinata’d know what’s going on better, but as long as he’s alive, it’s not hopeless… Right?”

You look towards him again. This time, he’s looking back at you, a thin line creasing his forehead.

“...I assume so,” you say after a long pause. That seems like a sufficiently honest and reassuring response. “We should offer to help look after him.”

Fuyuhiko nods. He probably considers that much a given; the survivors of the simulation have done as much for everyone who has woken up. The five of them—no, four now—seem to be part of an unspoken agreement to do everything in their power to aid the rest of you. Health checks, cooking, bathing, sitting and speaking to you in dulcet tones… or cheerfully raucous tones, in Owari’s case. Even now, you’re amazed at all they’ve been able to do for you and the others, all while battling their own demons.

“D’you need help with that?” The young master looks towards the pile of neatly folded clothes.

“No, I’m fine.” You appreciate the gesture, but you really don’t want to have to re-fold every article of clothing Fuyuhiko touches later. Gripping a shirt in both hands, you turn around fully to face him. He looks like he’s expecting what’s coming next. “...I hate to ask too many questions…” You avert your eyes, slowly folding the shirt. “But… I’m concerned… for all three of them…”

Fuyuhiko purses his lips tightly, nodding in taciturn agreement. “...Yeah… Me too.”

“You don’t think Souda really…?”

“No.” He sounds more confident than he looks. “Sonia’s just upset. After the shit that happened with Saionji and Komaeda, she’s probably a little paranoid…”

“She was so strongly opposed to thinking of any of us with suspicion,” you murmur. “To think she’d change her way of thinking so suddenly…”

The young master nods again. “I say, give her a few days. She’ll realize she’s not making any sense and come around.”

You suspect any further discussion would be useless. Speculating about your peers and their motivations wouldn’t do you much good. “But I wonder,” you say after a pause, “if perhaps Souda caused damage accidentally… The pods are complex, and Hinata was there to supervise when the rest of us woke…”

Fuyuhiko’s shoulders stiffen, and you instantly regret voicing that thought. “Even if that might be true,” he says lowly, “It wouldn’t do anybody any good to point it out.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Hinata was slipping for a long time, y’know?” Fuyuhiko starts speaking in his usual tone again as you resume folding clothes. Almost done… “So seeing him mess around with shit towards the end… I mean, it… I… It seemed possible, right? But Souda’s been stable. He had that breakdown the other day, but it wasn’t like he was trying to hurt anybody. It was just his luck that he was the first one to reach the control room.”

You agree. Of course, Souda and Tanaka had never gotten along, but neither had Souda and Saionji, and he had been instrumental in rescuing her… or, what you all had assumed was her.

But…  
( _But_ …)  
 _But Sonia wasn’t an issue with Saionji._

That was the elephant in the room. Sonia hadn’t said it outright when she made her tearful accusation, pointing a shaking finger at a stunned Souda as the mechanic rolled Tanaka’s stiff, drooling body into the hotel. None of the rest of you had mentioned it when you tried to calm her down. Fuyuhiko hadn’t mentioned it now, while speaking in Souda’s defense.

(But you **wonder** , don’t you?)

Souda has always been suspicious of the nature of Sonia and Tanaka’s friendship— and _suspicious_ was a generous term to use. Personally, you have long believed Souda misunderstands their relationship, but you were never close to any of the three, so you can’t say you truly know what’s gone on between them.

All that you know—you, and everyone else, as this has always been painfully obvious—is that Souda harbors feelings for the princess. Feelings that she doesn’t reciprocate. And he has long seen Tanaka as an obstacle in his pointless quest to win her over.

Still…  
( _Still_ …)

“Are you done with that?” After a brief silence, Fuyuhiko changes the subject abruptly and nods towards the stacks of folded clothes atop the cot.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

The young master hops off the bed and grabs the keys from the night stand. He moves almost too quickly to open the door and roll your cot from the cabin. Grabbing your cane, you walk after him.

* * *

 

You sit on the bed in your cottage— **_your_** cottage— and stare at the pile of clothes you still have to put away into the dresser.

It’s lonely.

You could do something about that, of course. Nanami and Mioda could always use company… Hanamura and Tsumiki too, though you’re less eager to see either of them. Sonia is still distressed too. And Souda; he must be upset over the accusations.

Accusations like those…  
You aren’t as certain of his innocence as Fuyuhiko claims to be. Sonia wouldn’t have spoken out if she hadn’t seen something to make her worry.

Glancing at your pager, you consider calling for her.

But if she has evidence, do you really want to know what it is?

…

Lonely.

You rest your hands on your knees, and your dangling legs swing the slightest bit, as if moved by the very rotation of the earth. This is a familiar sort of feeling…

“What is it that you’re afraid of, exactly?”

The voice isn’t real. Neither is the figure lying sprawled on the floor, his hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. His crimson eyes flick in your direction, a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

Your hands curl into fists.

You keep your own eyes averted. You refuse to acknowledge him. You’re angry with him. You’re angry, and you have the right to be. He killed Komaeda. He erased Saionji. He wasn’t there to oversee Tanaka’s removal from his pod. He left your young master and Souda and Sonia and all the others grieving and confused **and it isn’t fair.**

“You can ignore me,” he sighs, shoulders shifting in a half-shrug. “I’m not giving you an answer this time.”

Your gaze drifts to the unlatched deadbolt on the door. Before he left, Fuyuhiko had instructed you to lock it at night. But what if something happened after dark and he needed you? The chance of that was well worth his ire.

The deadbolt remains untouched.

You switch off the light and slide under the covers. A glance at the floor reveals an empty room.  
 _Good riddance._


	22. Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Door staring: a hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally published a different 'Chapter 22' titled 'Bon Appétit'. That one will be published as a later chapter. This is entirely new material.

**PICTURES** ;- afterbirth

* * *

You lie awake, your head dangling off the side of the bed, staring at the door.  
You know it won’t open, but at the same time, you hope…  
Selfishly, you hope…

It’s lonely.

The room feels empty without her or her cot or her quiet breathing. You hadn’t realized you had become so accustomed to her presence over a span of hardly two months that being without her would feel so jarring.

Ah, who are you kidding?  
You smile wryly as you roll onto your back, ripping your gaze from the door.  
This isn’t a surprise at all.

But it would be wrong for you to keep stifling her with your presence. Like it or not, you’re not a married couple. She needs privacy sometimes. And maybe you do too.

Maybe.

It isn’t as if she’s really gone.  
She’s close by. Less than the length of a soccer field. It’s a distance comparable to how far apart your rooms were when you were children.

She’s close, but…  
Even back when you were a kid, this sort of separation felt unusually distant, each closed door pulling you farther and farther from the security she provided. You didn’t feel safe just by knowing she was down the hall.

No… Back as a kid—a young kid—you used to stare at your door in the middle of the night when you felt uneasy. You’d never hoped your parents would come in to comfort you, but sometimes you’d wish for Peko. Your dumb little brain would hope she somehow sensed that you needed her.

But she never came.

You remember the soft padding of your tiny feet on the cool wood floor as you skittered to her room. You remember sliding her door open and staring at her as she sat up in bed, blinking tiredly.  
You remember vomiting down the front of your nightshirt.

You smirk at the ceiling as you reminisce. _Poor Peko_. She took you by the hand and led you to your parents’ room.  
Come to think of it, that was a bad night altogether. Your stomach cramps wouldn’t go away. Eventually, Mom took you to the hospital. That’s when you learned what it meant to be lactose intolerant.

Every once in awhile in the ensuing years, you found yourself stumbling to Peko’s bedroom after a nightmare or when anxiety refused to let you sleep. Sometimes she would lead you back to your room and silently return to hers. Other times she would sit by your bed until you fell asleep. Once, she let you share her futon. She never complained. She was such a strange child… It’s easier to see that now that you’re older.

You stopped going to her room by the time you were seven or so. You were too old to act scared then, especially about stupid things like bad dreams. Still, every once in awhile, you’d look across the dark room and fix your eyes on the doorknob, wondering if it would turn.

It never did.

The hairs on the back of your neck prick up as the nostalgic half-smile fades from your face.  
That’s not right…  
Not _completely_ right, anyway…  
There was one time. It didn’t really count though, did it?

You roll onto your side and face the wall. God, you could use something to read. A movie to watch. Anything to get your mind off (these things) when they crawl into your brain.

The rough fabric of the blanket is too thick for the tropical climate, but you huddle under it. You’re so cold.

You…  
(You miss her, huh? Remember when I taught you how to harness your grief and turn it into something spectacular? Remember? Remember? Remember?)  
You wish you could just sleep.

* * *

“It’s her.”

Your face and hands and toes were numb.

You didn't have to be the one to identify the body. The school could have called in your parents. But you insisted.

And, superficially at least, the task was easy. You'd recognize that face anywhere.

That face…  
That _face_ …

You looked up from that pasty white face and met the gaze of the school official standing by. He made a weak attempt at mimicking a sympathetic expression.

“Our staff is looking into the incident. We’ll contact you as soon as we have new information we can share.”

“Your staff?” You stared up at the guy, your cheeks reddening with outrage. “How about you get in touch with the fucking police?”

You never got a satisfactory answer to that question. Of course the local authorities would be involved in the investigation, they said. Of course there was an ongoing criminal investigation. Of course there was.

(Of course there wasn’t. How could the school afford that sort of investigation? The government was unwittingly funding a major project, after all. It wouldn’t do to have detectives snooping around when Project Kamukura was finally getting underway. Not that you knew any of that then, did you? All you knew was that something wasn’t right. **BANG** went the bat and **CRACK** went the skull and no one cared, no one cared, because no one cares about a reserve course student.)

The next thing you knew, you were standing outside of the administrative building, hands clenched into fists at your sides.  
It was so hard to breathe…  
You took a step forward, but when you emerged from the shadow of the building, you were struck by the fact that the sun would never touch your sister’s face again.

“Are you following me around or what?”

You felt your voice quiver. You didn’t have to turn around. You didn’t have to do anything. You knew when she was there.

Peko didn’t answer you, or draw closer. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see her figure shaded by the building in your periphery.

“The fuck do you want?!”

When she still didn’t speak, you walked away.  
She didn’t follow.

* * *

That evening, you heard a knock and saw a thick envelope slide into your room from the crack beneath the door.

Peering out into the hall of the dormitory, you saw no one.

If this was some sort of joke, you weren’t in the mood. Not by a long shot.

Slamming the door behind you, you opened the envelope and sat at your desk, depositing its contents in your hand. A short note, written on a piece of scrap paper, and a thin stack of photographs.

Your stomach twisted as you turned on the desk lamp and slowly began sorting through the pictures.

A smiling girl under a tree.  
Two friends, cheeks pressed together to fit into the frame of the photograph. You recognize one of them.  
A candid shot of a blonde girl dressed smartly in a high school uniform.  
A less candid shot of the same girl offering the photographer a nasty gesture. You almost smiled at that.

Then you saw the next photograph.

A rack of metal baseball bats.

What was this?  
Who delivered this to you?  
Glancing at the note again, you couldn’t recognize the handwriting, though it struck you that it was probably a girl’s.  
The dizziness of unreality set in as you continued looking at the photos, one after another.

Grainy stills from a security camera documenting the last fleeting moments of your sister’s life.  
Blood.  
The look of horror on the redhead’s face when she the scene.  
Your sister.  
Your little sister…

Your fingers whitened as you gripped that last photograph.

Her eyes were closed, mouth open, blood staining her head and matting her hair. She was propped up against a wall in a sitting position, and she was…  
….

You gathered the photos together into a neat stack with shaking hands. Again, you read the note.

“Her name is Satou.”

Your eyes were drawn to the second photo; Koizumi Mahiru beamed happily beside a dark-haired girl.  
You held that photo next to the one of the girl swinging the bat. It was hard to make out any facial features in the latter image, but…  
...but…

Then you heard the knock.  
“Fucking hell—”  
You nearly jumped out of your skin when the silence was broken.

“What do you want?” You stared out the door at Peko through dreary eyes. “You can’t be in the boy’s dorm this late.”

“May I come in?”

You almost slammed the door in her face. You wanted to be left alone. You wanted everything and everyone to just back off and let you process things. But instead, you found yourself stepping back, granting her entry without a word.

“What do you want?”

Peko stood stiffly in the middle of your room, clutching the strap to her shinai with her back turned to you. She was unnaturally still.

“Peko. What do you—?”

Suddenly she was facing you again, bowing low—so deferentially you took a step back from the sheer awkwardness of it. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t…. I’m sorry I didn’t…”

For a moment, just a moment, you thought she was going to cry. That alone was enough to knock the façade of calm out of your reach.

“I should have protected her… I’m sorry, Young Master…”

You didn’t respond to her apology.  
(You couldn’t.)  
You walked past her and sat down on your bed.  
(You.)  
( _You_ …)  
(She was yours to protect…) It wasn’t Peko’s responsibility to look after her. The idea that she’d suggest otherwise... How incompetent did she think you were?

(But weren’t you? Your sister is in a bag right now. In • com • pe • tent)

Your hands balled into fists.

Thoughts swam in your mind; thoughts that you couldn’t put into words under the weight of this stifling rage, this disbelief, this… guilt…

Who were you if you couldn’t protect the people you loved? What use was this stupid pseudo-talent if it couldn’t do so much as deter a high school girl from crossing you in the worst way possible?

Why were you even here?  
Why was your sister gone?  
She deserved this title more than you. You knew it. Your parents knew it. Their subordinates knew it. The only person who didn’t seem certain was her.

“I have to be tough,” she told you once, wearing an impish grin. “I can’t support my big brother if I’m not.”

But she was stronger than you. She had a tougher spirit. If she was here instead of you, like she deserves to be, she might never have met that reserve course **_bitch_** —

...You couldn’t let this go.  
You couldn’t forgive yourself if you let this go.  
She was your little sister.  
She was a daughter of the Kuzuryuu family.  
You knew what had to be done.

Without even pausing to consider your actions, you stood up and walked towards the door.

“Bocchan, stop.”

You whipped around, startled. How had you forgotten she was here? Peko stepped away from the wall and positioned herself between you and the door.

What a pain.

* * *

Her face remained stony as she looked over the photos aligned in a neat grid on your desk. You thought you could see her breathing quicken, but you couldn’t be sure.

Her gaze drifted to the note, and she narrowed her eyes.  
She looked up at you then. Her face was difficult to read.

“Who gave these to you?”

“Dunno.”

“Who is ‘Satou’?”

“A dead girl.”

Your arms were crossed in front of your body, but that couldn’t stop you from shaking. What was this? Rage? Fear over what you now had to do? Grief?

( _Despair?_ )

* * *

You never asked how she knew what had happened to your sister. You certainly never told her.  
Maybe she somehow sensed that you needed her.  
So she showed up at your door late at night.


	23. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of peace.

_“I don’t need a tool! I need you, Peko! So don’t go! Don’t leave me here by myself!”_

* * *

**MISCOMMUNICATION** ;- afterbirth

* * *

 You sit up and snap awake, right hand reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Fuyuhiko’s pleas echo in your head as you steady yourself, looking around the empty room.

Slowly, you climb out of bed and walk into the bathroom. A splash of cloudy water to your face rinses away the sweat, and you breathe slowly, willing your heart to calm down.

These thoughts aren’t the same ones that troubled you before you fell asleep. Somehow, that makes them more frustrating. All the shit you’ve pushed out of your brain… No matter how much you discard, there’s always something new that’s eager to jump to the forefront.

Compared to reality, nothing all that important happened in the simulation. Nothing you did there was worse than even the milder things your (real self) had done.

So why, then?  
Why does that scene echo in your brain?

(tears and blood and steel and pain and knowing that his damaged eye would be your legacy. _please don’t let them hurt him. please let your body be enough. please._ )

It wasn’t even real.

(he’s screaming underneath you. your last thought is that your body isn’t enough. _your last thought is that you can’t save him._ )

You steady yourself against the sink, wipe your face with the back of your sleeve, and straighten up.

{Look away from the mirror. Don’t let it distract you.}

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you pull a pillow onto your lap and hug it to mute your trembling.  
There aren’t any tears, at least. You’d hate yourself if you cried again now.

But you still shake.  
What was it that broke you so badly?

( ~~slashslashslashslash~~ —)

A field trip of mutual killing.  
Real or not, you were afraid for him, right from the start.  
He hated you for that.

“You can’t come here. People are gonna think something’s up.” Fuyuhiko had his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes darting around, examining the darkened scenery behind you. When he met your eyes again, his face was sour. “I told you before, there’s nothing between us now.”

You were aware that your peers could easily misinterpret a nighttime rendezvous between you and Kuzuryuu at his cabin door, but that seemed like the most trivial of concerns to you right now. And while his rejection stung, that wasn’t important either.

“Let me stay with you.”

“What?” His expression was quickly changing from irritated to angry, but you stood your ground.

“I don’t trust that bear. It’s my duty to—”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were getting frustrated with him. Finally, you spoke again, changing the subject.

“Why did you draw so much attention to yourself earlier?”

His cheeks flushed and he scowled, avoiding your gaze.

“You made threats you don’t intend to follow through on.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It could backfire. You might have made yourself a target.”

“As if! None of these losers has the guts to pull anything. Nobody’s gonna die unless I decide I wanna kill them, idiot.”

He looked so much to you like a kitten puffing out his chest to look bigger than he really was. It frightened you.

“Bocchan—”

“Don’t call me that. Fuck off, would you?”

The door slammed in your face and you hugged your shinai strap as you walked back to your cottage.

He’s grown up so much.  
You wish you could tell him you were proud without sounding patronizing.

But you… You haven’t matured at all, have you?  
(When will you stop pretending to be brave?)

And on top of it all… he was right, in the end. He survived. He survived the game without you.  
Before you died, he insisted that he needed you. But he didn’t. Not really.

You were so convinced back then that he hated you.  
In a way, he did. He hated having a tool, didn’t he?  
And that's what you were. That’s who you were.  
His Tool.

You spoke with him for two minutes before the execution. It only took two minutes for fifteen years of poor communication and misunderstanding to dissolve.

You hug your pillow tighter.

It’s so silly.  
You both could have been saved so much pain if you’d just… **talked** …  
It sounds so simple, but you know it wasn’t really as easy as that. Not back then; not when you were kids.

Two short minutes.  
You remember crying.  
You remember suddenly fearing death.  
You remember all of your dignity slipping like water through your fingers as it dawned on you far too late that _you hadn’t saved him. **You had abandoned him.**_  
You remember…  
You didn’t understand until it was too late…  
You didn’t understand…

{But it wasn’t too late.}  
{You came back to life.}

(But you’re broken.)  
{But you’re alive.}

_“What is it that you’re afraid of, exactly?”_

_“I’m afraid that he doesn’t need me after all.”_

This room is lonely.

This room smells musty.

The other cottage smelled like him.

It calmed you.

Why had you said yes when he offered to let you move into your own cottage?  
{It was because you wanted to take care of yourself.}

You could have kept accepting his help.  
You could have become attached at the hip.  
You could have let him take care of you forever, probably.

But you don’t want that anymore.

“ _I don’t need a tool! I need you, Peko!”_

He hadn’t needed a tool. He never did. He still doesn’t. You’ve always underestimated him.

If he doesn’t need a tool, you’re useless.  
You’re [useless], if you’re a tool.  
But if you _aren’t_...

“ _What is it that you’re so afraid of, exactly?”_

You regain control over your shuddering, and your breathing gradually calms.

Your grip on your pillow softens.

You’re not a child.  
You understand your own limitations.  
Maybe.  
[Or maybe you didn’t really learn the lesson the simulation taught you with blood and steel. After all, you still can’t put words to complex emotions, much less say them out loud.]

But Fuyuhiko learned.  
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Even if you can’t offer him the same kindness, it’s enough just to know how he feels.  
That’s enough for you.

(tears and blood and steel and screams—)

Despite the dull ache in your chest, you tell yourself that you feel better as you sink back onto the mattress. It’s a silly thought—entirely out of character to even cross your mind. But you wonder, as you drift off to sleep, if maybe it’s alright not to be needed as long as you’re loved.

A moment of peace is well worth the nightmares of tears and blood and steel you’ll have tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google search history:
> 
> how to write 'sweet'
> 
> mood whiplash


	24. European Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just let it happen.

**EUROPEAN THING** ;- afterbirth

* * *

 

His hair is shaggy, black, and unkempt; his eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, staring off at Nothing.  
He isn’t easy to feed, but you’re not going to let him starve to death.

You deposit a spoonful of watery, lukewarm porridge onto Tanaka’s tongue, trying to catch the runoff that dribbles from the corners of his mouth, and tilt his chin up. You watch the slight movement of his Adam's apple as he swallows.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

You had all been excited about the swallowing when you first noticed it yesterday. You thought it meant he was becoming aware.  
You thought it meant he was coming back.

But nothing else happened.  
It wasn’t any different than his blinking or his shitting, you all soon decided. It was a reflex; a physiological process that didn’t involve any real thought or intention.

If Hinata was here, he could explain what’s really going on. The guy was a walking encyclopedia. You wouldn’t be stuck making blind guesses about Tanaka’s condition.  
(But Hinata isn’t here.)

“Kuzuryuu-san…?”

You peer over your shoulder as Sonia cautiously steps into Tanaka’s cottage. She has bags under her eyes, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and the frizzy hairs encircling her head look almost like a golden wreath in the sunlight.  
She offers you a half-smile.  
It looks fake.

“Morning,” you reply.  
You could ask her what she’s doing here. But you don’t have to.  
You already know.

She walks over to the fold-up table and chairs and sits beside you, her tired gaze fixed on Tanaka. You hadn’t really expected her to be up and out today—the Tanaka fiasco happened just yesterday, after all—but she has never been the type to shirk responsibility.

After a few seconds, she looks down at the tabletop.  
She doesn’t say anything. She’s normally a prolific talker. But right now, she doesn’t say anything.

The quiet starts to get to you, so you break it. “Have you been by to see Tsumiki and Mioda?”

“Yes.”

And that is all she says.

You can see her out of the corner of your eye as you keep feeding the silent man to your left. Her body language is subdued, as if she’s expecting some sort of punishment—for her accusations against Souda, probably.

You set the mush down.

“Look.” You don’t like having to be the nice guy, but the only other person at hand is a vegetable, so you’re left with little choice. Arms crossed casually in front of you, you swivel in your chair to face her directly. “Nobody’s happy things turned out like this. I know you know it doesn’t look good. It’s fine for you to be upset, alright?”

She refuses to look you in the eye. She doesn’t react at all, actually, aside from biting her lower lip.

You feel like maybe you ought to say more than just a couple sentences, but nothing else comes to mind.  
What is there to say?  
You know as well as anyone that words can’t make this sort of thing better.

Deciding it would be pointless for you to try forcing words out of her again, you shift back onto your seat and redirect your attention to the thing that used to be Sonia’s dearest friend.

You want to believe he still might come back—maybe more for her sake than anything else—but you don’t. You just don’t.

After several long minutes of feeding Tanaka in silence, Sonia finally speaks up in a quiet, shaky voice. “...Kuzuryuu-san.”

“What?” You turn around again to face her.  
Before you have time to process just what the hell she’s doing, she’s latched onto you.

You’ve never liked hugs.

That isn’t unusual. Most people you know would be similarly put off if they were hugged like this. But then again, Western cultures are supposed to be a lot more touchy-feely. So when Sonia wraps her arms around your shoulders and buries her face in your neck, you try to take the discomfort in stride.

It’s a European thing, you guess.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” The embrace forces you to lean forward awkwardly in your seat. Meanwhile, Sonia looks like she might slip right off of hers and drag you onto the floor with her.

“Be quiet.” Her voice is too muffled to make it out, but you can feel her shoulders shake, so you know she’s crying.

“Mmph— Sonia, c’mon, let go–!”

You want to push her away, but that seems… mean. And more importantly, you’re really not sure she’s going to let you.

“Jeez… Come on, get a grip…” You cave in and awkwardly pat her back.

You can feel her hands form fists against your shoulders, and her body tenses.

“I don’t want to… I don’t _want_ to get a grip.” After that, her hold on you loosens and she lets herself slip onto her knees on the floor in front of you. You stare down at her, at a loss of what to do or say.

She seems to be examining the tops of her hands, still in loose fists, resting on her thighs, as she sucks in big gulps of air.

“I don’t want to… I don’t want to!” The pitch of her voice rises, and her fingers clench shut again.. “I’m tired of it! I’m so tired! I never get enough sleep, and every day I have to pretend to be cheerful to keep the others in good spirits and it’s so exhausting! I don’t care if I sound hysterical or spoiled or childish, I just…”

You sit through her outburst until she crumbles and chokes on her words. Her fists tighten in her lap and she bows her head, shoulders hunched.

What do you do at a time like this?

“...Come on, get off the floor,” you mumble, gently taking her arm and pulling her to her feet. She collapses into her seat and tries to hide her face from you.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry.” Her face is pink and splotchy, and her hands are trembling. She speaks in a shaky whisper. “Nidai-san came back for Owari-san… Pekoyama-san came back for you… I…” She clasps her hands together and squeezes them. “I thought…”

 _It isn’t fair._  
You know that’s one of the thoughts crashing around her mind, though she won’t say it out loud.

She’s right.  
It _isn’t_ fair.  
(If this had been Peko…)

You banish the thought and sit down across from her again.

Apart from Peko and your sister, you’d never been close to anyone before all...this. The other survivors had been your sole companions for five months before your comatose peers began to wake up again.

You’ve lost a sister.  
You’ve lost a brother.  
Although she came back, you lost Peko.

You glance at Tanaka and clench your jaw.

{You won’t let this destroy her.}

“Stop staring at him—” Sonia cuts herself off, then finishes with a murmur. “Look at me instead.”

You do as you’re told, though the second part of the request strikes you as a little odd. You’re a pushover lately, aren’t you?

When you face Sonia again, she has her fingers knotted together, held nervously to her lips, cheeks flushed and knees pressed tightly together. She’s staring at you. She looks like she wants to say something, but she hopes you’ll figure out what it is and start the conversation for her.

“...What?” you finally say. You sound more tired than irritated.

She glances at the floor and speaks lowly. “He's been taking things from Hinata’s cottage.”

You blink. “Eh? The hell are you talking about?”

“Souda-san. He’s been going there at night and taking things. Papers and wires and such.”

You’re unimpressed by what you assume is meant to be evidence pointing to the mechanic’s supposed involvement in Tanaka’s mental shutdown. “Souda’s been working on the generator. Hinata used to help him with that. He’s probably getting notes or some shit.”

“Then why is he sneaking in and out? Why didn’t you lock the door?” She leans forward—too close, too close—and her expression is more devastated than angry. “Why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You open your mouth.  
You close it again.

{Because you hoped he’d come back.}

You don’t know what to say, though.  
Fortunately, you don’t have to say anything.

* * *

 

The radio buzzes to life, and a distant, unintelligible voice seems to shout through the static.

 

“Hello?”


	25. Bon Appétit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does Kuzuryuu-kun know about this, hmm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features some disturbing content.
> 
> It was originally published as Chapter 22.

**BON APPÉTIT ;- afterbirth**

* * *

Hanamura smiled suggestively across the hot pot, resting his chin in his hand.

“How is it?”

You tolerated his leering because it really _was_ exquisite. You closed your eyes and took a small bite, rolling the meat over your tongue. The texture wasn't how you had expected. It wasn't chewy, or mushy. But it was soft, not unlike how you imagined escargot might feel. Not overseasoned, as you requested... It was organic, but the vegetables and meat from the hot pot made it more palatable.

“Well?” Hanamura leaned in further, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

You didn’t answer yet. You chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. Meeting the cook's gaze, you almost wished you could disappoint him. But you were honest.

“It’s perfect.”

He seemed pleased with that response, though he said nothing. His expectant smile widened, and he rubbed his hands together.

You scoffed quietly, taking a bite of vegetable to stretch out the main course.

“Pervert.”

“Am I?” He looked as unaffected by the insult as always. “Does Kuzuryuu-kun know about this, hmm?”

You shot him a dirty look and pulled a ball of black fabric from your pocket, dropping it onto the table. His piggy little eyes lit up as he grabbed it and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply.

“I’m trying to eat,” you snapped. “Put it away or I’ll—”

“Sorry, sorry.” He tucked the thong into his jacket. “I’ll wait until you’re finished, _ma cherie_.”

You didn’t say another word. You wouldn’t allow him to ruin this experience. You just took another tiny bite, chewed, and swallowed.

_Perfection._

* * *

“Mama…”

“You have to eat.”

“Mom… Mama…”

“Stop that. Open your mouth.”

“Nnh… I c-can’t…”

“Do as you’re told. Open your mouth.”

“Oi… Pekoyama…”

You look up from the spoon you’re trying to force into Hanamura’s mouth. Owari stands at the end of the table, rubbing the back of her neck.

“He won’t eat when he’s thinking about his mom, y’know?”

You stare blankly at Owari. Hanamura lifts his mittened hands and rubs at his face, a shiver passing through his body.

“Here… lemme take over, okay? Maybe you can help out with Tsumiki and Saionji.”

Owari takes the spoon from your hand and nudges you to the edge of your seat. You stare back at her for a moment before pushing yourself to your feet and grabbing your cane.

“Mom… Oh _God_ …”

Hanamura’s voice quivers and rises in pitch. You hurry down from the restaurant to the hotel lobby.

“Mama…”

* * *

“It’s perfect.”

You stood behind your master as he leaned in towards the blood-flecked bathroom mirror, admiring himself. A grin crept across his face.

He looked at you through your reflection. You nodded in agreement. It broke your heart to see those mismatched eyes staring gleefully at you. But that was the point all along, wasn’t it?

The Master directed his focus back toward the mirror and you allowed yourself a hint of a smile as you turned around and walked from the bathroom, right hand closed delicately around the piece of him he no longer needed.

Tsumiki stood just outside the bathroom, hands clasped tight around an empty jar. Her watery eyes followed you as you stepped out into the corridor. Your gaze met hers, and she nodded to your closed hand, a sickly smile crawling across her face.

You rarely felt flustered these days, but now, you found yourself turning heel and hurrying away. Why? What did you have to feel ashamed about? In front of Tsumiki, no less? The tissue is warm and surprisingly hard against your palm as you clutch it to your chest.

* * *

 You can still hear Hanamura’s whimpers from upstairs as you shakily step towards Tsumiki and Nanami. Owari must have brought the both of them here. Your young master is checking on the pods, and Nidai is looking after Tanaka.  
You haven’t seen Sonia or Souda this morning.

“Is Hanamura-kun alright?”

You glance at Saionji’s form only for an instant before setting your cane against the wall. “He’s upset.”

“He’s so noisy,” Tsumiki whispers, rubbing her knuckles together. “Why… does he keep crying for a dead woman…?”

You cast a sidelong look at Tsumiki. She isn’t in a position to complain about someone crying over a dead woman, but you keep that thought to yourself as you empty a dry packet of instant porridge into a bowl and mix in some vaguely off-color tap water. Nanami speaks softly to Tsumiki as you put the nasty mixture in the microwave.

“He is pretty noisy… But he doesn’t mean it…”

“He’s always… staring at me… and making faces… It’s… so dirty…”

Tsumiki’s voice is a squeak as you turn around to face her again, your arms crossed as you lean against the counter to inconspicuously give your body a rest.

“He hasn’t been concerned about those things since he woke up. I never imagined I could feel sympathetic towards someone like him, but…”

“This is a dream,” Tsumiki continues in a whisper. She doesn’t acknowledge that she heard you. “Maybe he’s realized it too…”

* * *

 “Don’t let me stop, alright? Make sure I don’t stop!”

Your arms were wrapped tightly around your Master, his back pressed against your front.  
You took no issue with this order.  
You’d never allow him to humiliate himself by stopping before he was finished.

Tsumiki sat on the tile floor not a meter away from you, clutching a jar and a roll of gauze as she stared up at you both, mumbling to herself under her breath.

She was a nuisance, but a necessary one.

The master started screaming. You held him tighter, shifting your hands to keep his head in place; first one, then the other.

“Don’t squirm,” you hissed in his ear, tightening your grip on his jaw. You pressed his body roughly between you and the counter. Why couldn't he just keep still?

He gritted his teeth, chest heaving as he met your gaze in the dirty reflection of the bathroom mirror.

You ponder for a moment that you're the last person he’ll see through that eye.

“Don’t…. **_hassle_** …. me….”

Each word squirmed through clenched teeth. Blood began to trickle past his lips then, and he pursed his mouth shut and got back to work.

The screaming continued, muffled behind closed lips. Bloody tears streaked his face and you stared into the mirror over his shoulder. You wouldn't look away. Even when hot tears began to stream down your face too, you held him still and you watched.

There was one last scream. A splattering of blood. An object rolling into the bowl of the sink. You let go of the master. You felt sick. But you kept it together, calling for the nurse. “Tsumiki! Pay attention!”

The girl on the floor yelped in surprise before scrambling up, approaching Kuzuryuu with the gauze as cautiously as if he was a wild animal.

“H-Hold still... Kuzuryuu-san...”

As your master's shouts of pain echoed in your ears, you looked into the sink. You looked... You reached inside...

Tsumiki caught your eye, and you snapped at her. “Pay attention to him, not me!”

She sniffled as she complied.

Your heart was in your mouth as you looked back to the sink. You _wondered_...

* * *

 “Hanamura-san… Do you remember what he did to her…?”

Your stomach lurches and you hesitate as you set bowls of porridge in front of Tsumiki and Nanami. You avoid making eye contact with the former. You know who and what she’s referring to.

“What he did to who…?” Nanami looked at Tsumiki with wide eyes, though there was a hint of distrust in her frowning features.

“His mother. Do... Do you know why he won't eat when he thinks about her...?”

“Tsumiki.” Your voice is sharp, and the nurse redirects her attention from Nanami to you. You shake your head. She pouts, stirring her porridge idly.

“Then…” Tsumiki looks up at you again, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Then, do you remember what happened to Kuzuryuu-san’s eyeball?” Her voice is barely a whisper, but her eyes gleam.

_How dare she..._

“He pulled it out,” you respond lowly.

“We should talk about something else…” Saionji’s voice interjects softly.

Tsumiki glares at Nanami, her shoulders tensing before she turns away from her again and leans towards you.

“I mean… do you remember what happened to it after…?”

You bristle.

“Tsumiki-san, you shouldn’t talk about this…” Nanami’s voice is gentle, but you see a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

You have to repress the urge to flee. Walking across the lobby, you pretend to be unaffected as best you can.

You feel sick.

(you thought you could forget? you think just because you aren't forced to wear your shame on your face like he is you can bury it? _stupid_ girl.)

Your thoughts are broken by the static buzz of a radio coming to life.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see that the others are staring at Owari’s radio where it sits atop a pile of dirty towels. Someone on the other end speaks up as you walk towards it. The voice sounds like a distant shout.

“...Hello?”

* * *

 “Tsumiki.”

She ignored you.

She was engrossed with a bloody tangle of tissue she cradled on her lap, her mouth painted a rusty red hue. She tugged at her matted hair with stained fingers, weepy laughter fading into giggling sobs and back again.

What a pain.

You lifted the nurse up from where she knelt by her hair. She screeched, slapping limply at your hands with her own as the thing she’d been holding rolled from her lap and onto the floor.

“Stop… s-stop it… oh…” Her begging was interspersed with fits of laughter. The crimson coating her fingers was smeared everywhere she’d been touching, leaving red fingerprints on her neck and up her thighs, creeping up beneath her skirt.

She repulsed you.

“My master wants something from you.”

“No… I won’t do it…!” She began to blubber, prying at your fingers again. “My poor body…!”

You narrowed your eyes, fingers tightening in her hair. “Not that. Don’t be disgusting. We want a piece of _her_.”

The tears stopped, as did her struggling. She stared at you with wide, round eyes, lips parted slightly. “My beloved…?”

“We know what you did for Komaeda,” you hissed, pulling the nurse closer to you. She licked her lips between shallow gasps. “We want an eye.”

She hesitated a moment before responding, brow furrowing as she stared absently down at the floor. “J… just one…?”

“Just one.”

 


	26. KIDNAPPED! (Interlude of Hope and Despair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luck lives on.

**KIDNAPPED!** ;- safety

* * *

“Sorry, but I’m kidnapping you.”

It’s an unorthodox way to wake a person up, but it works. You push yourself into a sitting position, blinking in bewilderment as a dark figure wanders to your closet and begins shoving clothes and packets of rations into your old backpack.

“What…?” You wipe the sleep from your eyes and kneel on your futon. “Who…? What’s going on?”

“Who do you find more reliable? Kirigiri Kyouko or Togami Byakuya?”

“Wha—?” You’re further bewildered by the question, but the confusion is cut off when your mobile lands in your lap. “Who are you?”

The figure stops what they’re doing for a moment and glances back at you.

You catch a flash of red behind a swath of shaggy hair and a lump forms in your throat. "Hina...ta...?"

The figure shakes his head, and you swallow hard. As he goes back to packing, he mumbles, "I'm not here to kill you. I need your help."

 

* * *

Three hours later, you’re out of breath as you walk alongside your companion-slash-abductor. He casts you a sidelong glance.

“Would it be faster if I carried you?”

“No! ...Hah… no, I-I’m… I’ve got it, thanks.” Gritting your teeth, you pick up the pace and glance at your watch. 6:47 in the morning. God, it feels like you’ve been going so much longer than this.

“Have you heard back from Kirigiri?” Kamukura looks over at you.

“Not yet, sorry.”

“She seems like the kind of person who would wake up early.”

“She is.” You grip the straps of your backpack. “But she’s also the sort of person who won’t send a response until she knows exactly what to say. She won’t send something that looks suspicious.”

He doesn’t look impressed by that, but he can’t do anything about the time lag. Though you fully expect she will, Kirigiri isn’t obligated to help you at all, let alone risk her own safety and position by covering for your absence. So he’ll just have to be patient.

Your mobile beeps less than an hour later, and, aware of your exhaustion, Kamukura starts scouting out a location to break for the morning. He stops toying with the dusty innards of a radio and hops off a shallow ledge, looking back at you with a bored expression before peering into a half-buried concrete bunker.

You climb down after him, careful not to irritate the ankle you twisted tripping over a brick earlier. As you do, you get a good look at him for the first time since you left the island last year. His hair is shaggier now than it was seven months ago, when you, Kirigiri, and Togami had left him behind on Jabberwock Island. The set of his face tells you all you need to know about how his life as Hinata Hajime has worked out.

You follow him into the bunker, and as he kicks some trash into the corner and sits on the floor, you can tell that this Kamukura is different than the one who was plugged into the simulation as Hinata last year. You can’t say how, exactly, but you’ve learned that your gut instinct is fairly reliable, and right now, it’s telling you that the mass murderer fiddling on the ground with a broken handheld radio doesn’t plan on hurting you.

He wouldn’t be the first killer you learned to trust.

“Naegi." He speaks dryly. "What did Kirigiri say?”

“Oh… right…” You open the message from Kirigiri and read it aloud:

“I got your message. I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well. I’ll take care of your duties for the time being. Please update me to let me know how you’re doing.”

You glance up at Kamukura, only to find he doesn’t appear to be paying attention. He’s still focused on that stupid radio.

“...That’s it,” you finally say.

“Alright.”

As the minutes continue to tick by, the silence begins to suffocate you, so you speak. “How… How are the others doing?”

“Stable enough that they probably won’t kill each other while I’m gone,” Kamukura replies, squinting at the tangle of wires before carefully separating a yellow one from the others. “Or, at least, the stable ones outnumber the others.”

“When you say stable, you mean…?”

“Talking. Taking agency for their own self-care. Acting lucid most of the time.” You grab a small packet of crackers as he explains. “I’d consider the other four simulation survivors, Nidai, and Pekoyama stable enough.”

You nibble at a corner of your snack. “And the others… They’re Hanamura-kun, Mioda-san, and Tsumiki-san, right?”

He nods, nimble fingers never hesitating or straying from their task.

“So you’re still waiting on Koizumi-san, Tanaka-kun, Saionji-san, and Impostor-san, then.” You tick off each name with a finger. “It’s a little strange… I got the impression they would all come to at around the same time.”

“Things are never that simple.” Kamukura sticks a wire between his teeth and talks through them. “An’ Thaionshi i’n’t in a po’.”

“What?”

He spits it out again.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you ready to keep going?”

You weren’t; not at all. But the air in this alcove is hot and thick and you can feel sweat starting to roll down your back. “Sure thing.”

* * *

It’s twilight when you reach the Foundation’s southeastern port. As Kamukura predicted, there are no armed guards; rather, a retinal scanner blinks pleasantly at the gate.

“Do you know how this works? I mean, have you ever sailed before?” You drop a case of water bottles in the storage compartment of a humble little schooner while Kamukura hoists up the sails.

“Yes, and no.”

That’s not what you'd hoped to hear. Still, he somehow managed to get from the islands to Japan with much less than this, so you have to trust that he isn’t going to accidentally kill you both.

You’re in the middle of sending Kirigiri a quick update when you feel a sudden lurch different than the bobbing of the boat on the waves. You only have time to yelp as you’re flung forward, opposite the direction of the boat’s sudden movement, and your mobile device flies from your hands and into the ocean.

“Kamukura-kun!” You turn around, shooting him a devastated look as he nonchalantly raises the second sail.

“Oops.”

It’s more than an ‘oops’ to you, though. That had been your line of communication with the Foundation, and Kirigiri in particular. Only when you look back and find that you can no longer see a trace of it as you move away from shore do you begin to fully grasp the consequences of what you’re doing here.  
There will be no going back to the Foundation after this.  
You'll be on your own.

Hot tears sting your eyes as you sit facing port, back to Kamukura.

This was the right thing to do, you reassure yourself. They need your help. Don’t they?

“Kamukura-kun,” you say once you trust yourself not to cry. You take a deep breath, wipe a hand over your face, and turn back around to face him. “Why are you so concerned about tropical storms?”

“I’m not concerned, really,” he answers with a half-shrug. “But I expect one.”

You don’t feel reassured by Kamukura’s nonchalance.

“I’ll name it Hurricane Nagito,” he continues after a moment of squinting through the clouds at the stars above. “His luck has too much momentum at this point to stop just because he’s dead. It’ll take a few cycles before it winds down.”

It’s chilling to hear him speak so matter-of-factly about the recent death of one of his peers, but it gives you the opportunity to broach a subject you were too nervous to mention before now. “About Komaeda-kun,” you say cautiously. “The higher-ups thought that report you sent was kind of—”

Kamukura shoots you a look that shuts you up. You have to repress a shiver.

“Forget it,” you say. You have your suspicions; you’ve discussed the questionable nature of Komaeda’s death with Kirigiri numerous times since the report came in. But this still isn’t the time to dive into that avenue of inquiry, apparently.

As the last breath of sunlight vanishes over the western horizon, you exhale and hug yourself. It’s been a long day since Kamukura came slithering out of the vent and into your “temporary living quarters” at the Foundation headquarters.

Before long, you fall into a fitful slumber between two benches on the schooner.

The next morning, you wake up to Kamukura’s pointer finger unceremoniously poking your cheek.

“Wha…?” You sit upright and instantly recall your dreams of roller coasters with far too many drops as the boat rises and falls on the tall ocean waves. Scrambling to properly orient yourself, you cling to one side of the boat. Misty saltwater sprays your face, and as you cough, you look around to see that the sails have been lowered.

Kamukura sits between two benches adjacent to you, resting his chin on his hands. He seems almost amused by your panic.

* * *

You huddle in a cave, a somewhat damp blanket wrapped around your shoulders while your clothes dry above a small campfire. The craggy little island Kamukura managed to anchor at is far from homey, but it has a few natural caves, and once you brushed the dry bird droppings out of the way, it made a decent enough shelter.

“This isn’t anything serious,” Kamukura says as he stands naked at the cave entrance, staring out at the ocean. You keep your eyes averted and cough into your hand in response. “It’s a regular storm; nothing like a typhoon. Just our luck. Or your luck, more likely.”

You feel him cast a look in your direction, but you say nothing. He’s not wrong. Your luck is spectacularly mediocre.

You hear rustling from across the little fire. Kamukura unwraps the bones of the radio he’d wisely stored in a plastic bag and messes with it for just a minute longer.

“Talk.”

Kamukura holds a small metallic square connected to the radio with thin, colorful wires to your face. You blink, look at the square, then look back at him.

He lowers the square again.

“It’s a radio. Talk.”

“Talk to who?” you ask hesitantly.

Kamukura seems exhausted by that question, but after a long moment of silence, he responds. “To communicate with the islanders.”

“Radio signals shouldn’t reach that far.” You frown at the device. “How far from the mainland are we?”

“Hurry up. I’m turning it on now.” Kamukura shuts down your question as he adjusts the open-faced radio again and offers you the speaker.

You take it and look at him. He stares back. You return your attention to the little metal square.

“Hello?” Your voice sounds raspy. You clear your throat. “Sorry, hello?”

Kamukura has his thumb pressed against some of the wires, holding them against the appropriate nodes. “Just talk. They aren’t going to be able to reply.”

* * *

“Oh, uh… Hello, this is Naegi Makoto with Kamukura-kun… Well, hello, first of all. I’m glad to hear that more of you are around than last time I was on the island. We don’t have any updates on when you might be allowed to come back to the mainland, so… uh, sorry. Um… What else should I tell them?”

An unintelligible murmur speaks in the background of the broadcast.

“Okay… Um! Kamukura-kun wants me to give you all a briefing on tropical storm safety. You need to start stockpiling food and water at the highest elevation shelter you have! You’ll also need to gather spare blankets and clothes. You can keep the generator running for now, but be prepared to shut it off at a moment’s notice! If anyone is still in their pod and a hurricane hits, you should… What? That’s— No.”

There’s a long silence, a rustling, and different voice takes over.

“They should be fairly safe in the control room,” he says dryly. “Or think of it this way: if it’s bad enough that they’re going to die, you have to look out for yourselves, because you could easily die too. Listen. This is an outgoing signal only. Your radios aren’t powerful enough to reach us, and if they were, I don’t have any way to play messages on this device at the moment. We’ll be coming with supplies soon, unless typhoon season beats us. Try not to die.”

More rustling, and Naegi’s voice returns. “Uh… Um. ...It’s not nearly as bad as Kamukura-kun just made it sound. We don’t have any way of knowing if you’ll be hit with anything too dangerous. But it’s best to be prepared. We’ll keep you updated on how things are going here and let you know if we have any important weather news for you. I...hope this reaches you. Oh, and Kamukura-kun says… Wait, what? … You didn’t tell them? Why? … Uh… He says he’s...sorry for the, uh... suicide note...? He says he thought he’d probably die on his way to the mainland… So… um… s-sorry…?”

Across the island, seventeen eyes stare at radios, and three see nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like telling readers how to think or feel about what I write, but this chapter has a different enough feel that I want to make a quick note about narrators: the style of the chapter reflects the state of mind of whoever we're following. Naegi is a person who looks forward rather than back, and compared to our remnants of despair, his personal pathos doesn't cloud his view of the world in a noticeable way.
> 
> Basically, Naegi has a healthy mind, so we're seeing a story told in chronological order without any of those weird parenthetical asides you'll often see in other chapters.


	27. Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's being a tool, and there's being a human. You're caught somewhere in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally do things like this, but it's really important for me as I determine how I'm going to tell the story at this point. If you're a regular reader (or if you aren't, I'm not picky) would you mind dropping a comment to let me know whether you're more interested in the plot-heavy stuff or the kuzupeko?
> 
> I'm not going to drop either element of the story, but it's been over three years since I started this. It's hard to maintain a specific direction for a single fic over three of the most formative years of my life. I'm an entirely different person than I was when I started writing this, and the characters and tone of the story have changed with me.
> 
> TL;DR: Please let me know what elements of this fic you're most interested/invested in. I'd really appreciate it.

**BETWEEN** ;- safety

* * *

Sonia sleeps on the sofa in the hotel lobby, loosely hugging a dirty throw pillow. It looks like the first good rest she’s had in awhile.

Meanwhile, Fuyuhiko sits across from you at the lacquer wood table, his gaze trained out the window.  
Perhaps he’s looking at the moon, you think. It’s full tonight.

After such a hectic day, it’s somehow nice to sit with him and soak in the island’s ambiance. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like such a terrible place right now, even as Naegi’s warning about storms continues to tickle the back of your mind with whispers of worry. But they’re just whispers.

The only sounds are the faint humming of insects and the princess’s steady breathing. It could lull you off to sleep if you let it.

None of you knew how to take it, when you heard Hinata’s distinctive monotone over the radio. There wasn’t much by way of celebration or anger among the residents of the little commune, even though both would have been reasonable reactions.

You know the instant he shifts his gaze from the window to you, although you aren’t looking at him. You always know what he’s doing and where his focus is. You’ve been trained for that, after all.

“Hey…” His voice is soft so as not to disturb the sleeper across the room. “Do you remember that thing I told you awhile back? Before Komaeda died…? It was, um...”

You immediately know what he’s talking about. Even with so little specificity. Maybe it’s because of the gravity of the word ‘love’, or maybe you just know how to read him, but you’re certain he’s talking about { **[that](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2160846/chapters/4724232)** }.

You shift in your seat, uncertain how to respond.

Despite your lack of responsiveness, his face softens. Just a little bit.  
“I figured.” It seems you aren’t the only one who can read minds. “Well, it’s still true, and, uh… I just wanted you to know that.”

You don’t speak. The look on his face is so… spectacularly content.  
Your chest feels warm.  
You look down.

Your [tools don’t feel] mantra echoes in your head, in spite of your best efforts to banish it. You want to say something. You want to tell him that the feeling is mutual.

But more than that, you want to tell him that you don’t resent him for anything; you couldn’t possibly resent him for anything. Not just because you were his tool, but because you care for him so deeply, and you always have, and you knew how hurt he was.

And you want him to know how much you admire him, how your heartbeat picks up when he smiles, and how proud you are when you see him spoonfeeding Tanaka or talking softly to Mioda. You want to tell him about his eye, and how sick you feel for doing what you did, and then you want him to tell you that it’s alright and that it doesn’t change anything between you.

“Fuyuhiko…”

Your cheeks heat up when you realize _that’s_ what spilled out of your mouth. Not his title, but his _name_. He looks as surprised to hear that as you are to have said it. But you don’t correct yourself.

“Fuyuhiko, it’s… Hmm. What I mean is… you… don’t have to tell me that.” Your cheeks only feel warmer. “I know.”

His face is pink too— _that’s_ a relief. But the instant he cracks a small smile, you feel completely disarmed again.

“Good.”

That… That isn’t what you’d wanted to say. Frustrated by your inability to produce the proper words, you look down at your hands as they form fists against your knees.  
It _wasn’t_ good. It wasn’t enough.  
He shouldn’t be satisfied with that.

But…  
Well, but he _is_. He looks out the window again, still wearing that crooked smile, arms crossed over his chest.

Sonia murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep, and he looks over at the couch with that same fond smile. You hardly recognize this gentleness. You almost wonder if he’s had a drink, but as far as you know, there’s nothing like that on the island.

It reminds you of how he sometimes acted as a child, before he knew how to rebel against himself. He liked to pick flowers from the fields behind the estate, you seem to recall, and he’d present them to servants or girlfriends of visitors to the compound, enjoying their smitten reactions.

He gave one to you once, but you hadn’t reacted the way he wanted.  
You said thank you, and he told you to smell it. You did as he asked. He still wasn’t pleased.

“Why aren’t you smiling?”

Your young mind hadn’t understood his frustration. You were only four, five at the oldest, and you didn’t realize you were meant to react like the women who would gasp dramatically and call him a little charmer.

It’s funny to remember that, because so little has changed. He’ll offer you something, and you don’t know the right way to accept it. The difference is that this time, he seems to understand that about you.  
{The difference is that this time, he doesn’t mind.}

“It’s weird,” he mumbles, still looking at Sonia rather than you, “but it was hard to sleep last night.”

You watch him curiously, your mind quickly returning to the present. You wait for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Instead, he trains his gaze on you. “What about you? Is the cottage alright?”

Ah, so _that’s_ what he was on about. The separation must be unnerving for him too. You nod.  
“Yes, Bocchan. It’s alright.”

He studies you for a moment, then eases back in his seat. “Sorry it took so long for me to offer you your own place. That was pretty selfish of me.”

“It’s fine. I understand that you were concerned for me.”

“You need to stop cutting me so much slack.”

You almost say that you didn’t want your own cabin before his offer, but you realize that might sound like a request to move back in with him. So you hesitate a moment and think before responding.

“...Sharing a room didn’t bother me. Perhaps you should cut yourself a little _more_ slack.”

He smirks slightly, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Yeah, sure. Like you’re one to talk.”

You don’t reply to that verbally, instead giving him an unimpressed stare that only seems to amuse him more. He raises an eyebrow as if daring you to argue. But you don’t. You just cross your arms and sigh.

“Aw, come on. Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“Yeah you are. You’re annoyed, right?”

Arms still crossed, you squeeze your biceps as you try to make as neutral a face as you can. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I just wish you...”

Your voice trails off as discomfort sets in once again.

[Not your place. It’s not your place.]

“Peko?” Fuyuhiko leans forward, scooting to the edge of his seat. You blink at him dumbly. “What were you gonna say?”

You know he isn’t trying to be confrontational, but you feel cornered just the same. Shaking your head, you press your knees together and exhale. “I don’t know. It slipped my mind.”

He doesn’t believe you. For a moment, he looks like he’s searching for words, but he seems to think better of it. He looks down for a moment and murmurs, “You’re okay, Peko,” as he leans back in his chair once again.

It’s then that you notice Sonia. She’s still clutching the pillow, but she’s awake now, sitting up on the sofa with her knees pulled up to her chest, watching you both.

“Oh… I beg your pardon.” She glances away sheepishly after you make eye contact.

Fuyuhiko turns in his seat to face her. “Oi, Sonia.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she says timidly.

He snorts. “Don’t worry about it. Did we wake you up?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She glances out the front window of the hotel into the night, chewing her lower lip nervously. “Kuzuryuu-san? Would you mind terribly if you walked with me to my cottage?”

You and Fuyuhiko share a momentary glance. Is she worried about Souda? That’s the only thought you have as your young master pushes himself to his feet. “Yeah, whatever. It’s late, we should all probably turn in.”

Taking the hint, you stand up too. Sonia gives a strained smile and hugs herself tightly as you all head out into the night air.

Nearby, the power generator groans.  
You shiver.


	28. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's not dead as long as you're alive.

**POWER ;- safety**

* * *

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Get up now.”

“No— ow!” Souda glares over his shoulder at you after you fling a dirty spoon at the back of his head. “Oi, fuck you!”

“Get up, asshole!”

“ _Fuck_ you!”

You glance around for more cutlery to throw, but there’s nothing else smaller than a wrench that might be effective. You pick up the tool and smack it against your open palm.  
Souda winces.

With the generator acting up, you don’t have time to wait around for the mechanic to finish moping anymore. Although Owari has been around to visit him once or twice over the past few days, he hasn’t set foot outside of his cabin since dropping Tanaka off at the hotel, as far as you know.

When the lights shut off this morning, you’d decided that enough was enough. There’s a backup generator powering the pods, so the situation isn’t life or death, but considering how much of the food here is microwaveable, it might as well be.

So you stopped by Souda’s cottage. When knocking failed to produce any results, you resorted to using the master key. Inside, you found Souda, shirtless and catatonic, lying on his bed. Apparently, the knowledge that Hinata wasn’t dead after all hadn’t done anything to lift his spirits. If anything, he was more devastated now than before.

And there he remains, even as you stand over him, threatening him with a wrench.

“Khh—! Go ahead an’ hit me,” he hisses, tensing as his hands reflexively move to protect his head.

You consider it for a moment. It might feel really nice. But instead, you turn and hurl it against the far wall, startling a screech out of Souda with the loud crack of the impact. “Come on. You need to work on the generator.”

A shiver passes over the mechanic. Without speaking, he pulls the covers up over his head.

“Stop it with this bullshit!” You run your hands through your hair, pacing the length of the unlit room anxiously. “You can’t lie around and sulk forever, you shithead! There are people here who need you! We all need you! You’re the fucking mechanic!”

He doesn’t answer you.

“Come on!” You grab the covers and yank them off of him, only managing to pull them out of his grasp with the element of surprise on your side. “The fuck is wrong with you?” You shove his shoulder. His hands form fists on the mattress in front of him, but he says nothing. “Did you really do it or something? Christ, did you do that to Tanaka?!”

“I didn’t do anything to him.” His voice is more of a wheeze than anything. “I didn’t… fucking do anything…”

“Then stop hiding! If you don’t have anything to hide, get up and do your fucking job!”

“I didn’t do it,” he hisses, “but he deserves it.”

Your chest clenches and a familiar rage sets in. Next thing you know, you’re standing on the bed, kicking his back and demanding that he get his ass outside.

“Get up! Get up, asshole! You don’t have to see Sonia if you don’t want! She didn’t like you before any of this! This doesn’t change that, so get over it!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

You must have pinched a nerve, because after roaring that, Souda rolls over and shoves you. Before you have time to react, you’re falling. You’re falling, falling…

Your vision goes black for just an instant. Sparks flare behind your eyes, and that’s all the time it takes for Souda to scramble out of bed and pin you down.

You can’t hear him at first over the sound of your brain hitting your skull.

“...screaming at me like I’m your goddamn slave or something! Like I owe you something! I can’t do it! I can’t do it! If we all die it’s what we fucking deserve!” He looks like he’s going to hit you. Your whole body tenses in anticipation of blows, but he only grabs the collar of your shirt and shakes you. “I hope we die! I hope we die! If I wasn’t such a damn coward I’d kill us all myself! We deserve it! All of us! Look at you!” Cool air hits your skin as he rips your eyepatch off your face. You feel warm drops of liquid hit your cheeks as they roll off of his. “Look at that! She’s not dead as long as we’re alive! Look at you! She’s right there! She’s right there! She’s—”

You stare up at the ceiling, vision blurry and distorted. The room looks so strange from this angle.

Souda’s wailing into your chest now, gripping one of your wrists and getting tears and snot all over the front of you, but you’re too out of sorts to shove him away.

“I can’t do it…! I c-can’t do it!” He heaves in a shuddering sob and tightens his grip on your wrist. “We’re all gonna die, and it’ll be my fault.”

The ceiling blurs, and you lift your free hand weakly, resting it atop Souda’s head.  
You pat it twice.  
Neither of you move for what feels like a long time.

* * *

 The lights turn on around seven that evening. In the lounge, you raise your head from the table. Mioda claps her hands lightly. Tsumiki and Nanami look up from their card game. Hanamura blinks rapidly, and Peko doesn’t move from her seat facing the window, staring out at the gentle rain.

Souda, Owari, and Nidai enter moments later, all three soaked to the skin, the latter two with triumphant grins. Souda meets your gaze for just a moment before turning his head, greasy hands balling into fists.

“It’s just a temporary fix,” he says blandly. “So don’t use the power unless you need it, alright?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Owari responds with a salute.

You stand up. The nap wasn’t nearly enough, but dinners won’t make themselves. As you pass Souda, you pat his shoulder once.

“She ain’t here,” he comments lowly.

You shake your head no and head upstairs to add water to some instant meals.

You're going to eat like kings tonight.


End file.
